Reunion (complete)
by ChiefPam
Summary: Roj Blake died at Gauda Prime. But a few years later, a new revolution is brewing ... and the new revolutionaries are searching for Blake's former associates.
1. Beginnings

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.  
  
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REUNION  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
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In the overcrowded capital city on Earth, amid the crowded jumble of houses and highrises, one dwelling stood aloof. It was not immediately conspicuous, but if it caught the casual observer's eye, some interesting details could be discerned. The yard was tiny in proportion to the house, but both were slightly larger than the surrounding houses. The yard was enclosed by a surprisingly sturdy fence, with a gate that seemed designed only to keep people out . . . or perhaps to keep them in.  
  
The house was unremarkable otherwise, unless the observer was knowledgeable enough to recognize the extremely complex magnetic lock securing the front and only door. The windows were few, and on the small side, but that could have been the whim of the owner, who didn't seem too fond of his or her neighbors. The designer had in fact been under strict orders. The house was not merely a house; it was a political prison, for the Empress's favorite political prisoner.  
  
***  
  
Inside the house, in a basement that looked like a rather advanced laboratory, a man stood before a workbench, studying some sort of complex gadgetry. He seemed lost in thought, turning the piece over and over in long slender fingers. He was dressed in featureless black tunic and pants, and his brown hair was cut short. His face hinted that he might be in his late thirties, but his eyes seemed far older.  
  
Another man appeared in the doorway. He was much younger than the first, in his mid twenties. His black uniform marked him as a Federation officer, but he had an open, friendly face and blond hair. He stood for a moment surveying the workshop and then queried softly.  
  
"Avon?".  
  
"Go away, Varel," Avon replied absently, his attention never leaving the contraption in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he came close to solving the riddle it posed. Then he remembered who he was working for and why he didn't want to fix the unit. He lowered it and looked up, seeing Varel still in the doorway.  
  
Varel, seeing that he had the other man's attention, continued, "Avon, dinner's ready. Do you want to come and eat?"  
  
The computer genius released the gadget and smiled a tired, humorless smile. "Why not."  
  
***  
  
Elsewhere in the galaxy, a smaller man was sitting in a featureless room that closely resembled a cell. He seemed unhappy. He began to talk to himself.  
  
"Easy to escape and meet him, he said. Sure, it was easy enough to crack out. But when I get to the meeting point, was anybody there? I ask myself." He directed an angry glance towards the ceiling. "Well, whatever your name is, that's your last chance." He lapsed into silence again, staring glumly at the wall. After a moment, he walked over to the cell door, in which was set a small metal grille, large enough to see a face through. "Can I have a bit to eat? I haven't done anything you know." Vila Restal had never been innocent in his life, but he liked to keep pretending. "Is anyone there?" He turned and started pacing, bouncing a little as he walked.  
  
Behind him, a face appeared at the grille. It was a pretty face, but the expression was tense. "Hist. Vila"  
  
The thief spun around and ran to the door, and then stopped suddenly. "Who are you?"  
  
"I'm here to get you out. Can you open this door?"  
  
Vila drew himself up with injured pride, "Of course I can. Only reason I didn't is all those guards. Unfriendly fellows."  
  
"They've been taken care of. Open it, will you."  
  
"Already done." He proclaimed loftily, and the door swung inward as he stepped out of its way.  
  
The girl looked even prettier in full view. She was a fairly tall blond with large blue eyes. She was wearing a serviceable green jumpsuit.  
  
Vila looked appreciative, and asked again, "Who are you?"  
  
"I've come to get you out. Now, do you want to spend the next five years of your life on this planet, or are you coming. I can only tell you that I'm one of Blake's people."  
  
"What!" The thief looked stunned, then disbelieving. "You can't be. Blake's dead, I saw it myself. He died six years ago."  
  
"If you want to find out anything more, you'll have to come with me. Blake will explain it to you. Hurry, we've got a shuttle waiting near here."  
  
Vila looked uneasy, "I'm not too keen on shuttles. Haven't you got teleport?"  
  
"No." The girl was visibly impatient, watching the corridor closely. "We've got to go now. I should mention that the Terra Nostra have tracked you down -they'll kill you if no one else beats them to it."  
  
Vila shrunk back into himself, and asked, "How do I know you're not from the Nostra?"  
  
"Because I haven't killed you yet?" She offered sweetly, still watching the corridors. "Come on, they'll be waking up soon."  
  
Vila hesitated another second, then moved out of his cell. Whatever she wanted probably would be better than staying in jail waiting for the Terra Nostra to kill him. Or so he hoped.  
  
"All right, all right. Lead on."  
  
It took less than ten minutes for them to get clear of the small prison. Then they were running for a clump of trees, dark in the twilight. A shot whistled by Vila's ear, but the girl swiveled and returned the fire almost before he could yell. They continued running and soon were boarding a small shuttle craft through the hold doors. Once they were inside, the girl hit a control to shut the doors, then used her communicator. "We're safe aboard, Loren, take us up." She pushed Vila into an acceleration couch and then fell into one herself. After a few minutes of shaking, the shuttle stabilized and Vila guessed that orbit had been achieved.  
  
He remained lying down for a few minutes. After all, he wasn't getting any younger, and he didn't run sprints like that every day. When he was feeling a bit better, he sat up, and looked at the girl next to him. She seemed much more relaxed.  
  
"Look," he began. "You seem to know me, but who are you, and why are you helping me?"  
  
"Simple. My name is Silira, and our pilot is Loren. We're trying to rid the galaxy of the Federation."   
  
Vila moaned softly.   
  
"Blake thought that you could be helpful, so we're taking you to meet up with him." She smiled and walked towards a console to look at the readouts. "We'll catch up with our ship in less than twenty minutes."  
  
Vila relapsed into gloominess. "And here I thought she was going to get me *out* of trouble."  
  
***  
  
After their dinner, Avon and Varel relaxed in the lounge. At least Varel relaxed, sprawling in a chair, watching Avon through half-closed eyes. Avon walked slowly around the room.  
  
"All that pacing about is bad for you, you know," Varel offered lazily.  
  
Avon impaled the guard with a glance and smiled frostily. "You're so concerned about my health. I didn't know your job included playing nursemaid." His voice had a definite sneer, but the younger man didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Doesn't. I'm to keep you within that fence out there. It might look bad on my record if you died, but that's the extent of it. Anything else is not my problem." He looked directly at Avon as he continued. "I'm not ambitious. This army is just as dirty and corrupt as the rest of the government, and the higher you go, the worse it gets. My goal is to be totally unremarkable, and to get out as quickly as possible. Besides," he smiled, "for some reason, I've come to like you, as a friend. I don't know about you, but I could use a good friend or two. If you don't care for the idea, forget I mentioned it. But I've been here for eight months now. I think you're an excellent judge of character; you must know I mean what I say."  
  
Avon looked at him in mild shock, then turned aside to hide his reaction. It had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone who wasn't a guard, or government worker, or Empress, all trying to use power against him. Those encounters he knew how to handle, how to win. But this was something else. He had realized that Varel was different from some of his former guards. Varel acted more like a houseguest than a jailer. It had sometimes seemed as if the guard respected him, but to be friends? In truth, the idea of a friendship was. . .interesting was the strongest word he allowed himself. As soon as he began to consider the possibilities though, he remembered the last time he had begun to open himself up to friendship. Years after the fact and only to himself, he admitted that Vila and Tarrant had been his friends, and that Dayna may have been more than just a friend. Now that they were all dead. It was always the same. Once you made yourself vulnerable, it was all over, and he couldn't allow that to happen again.  
  
"All right, I'll forget you mentioned it." His voice was almost as bland as ever, but Varel noted the difference, and the pause that preceded it, and thought he knew the explanation. Avon would think about it. That was enough for now. There was plenty of time.  
  
Silence reclaimed the room until the telescreen beeped. The matte black surface dissolved into the image of a woman with short black hair. She could be described as stunning, but not as beautiful. At her appearance, however, Varel leapt up and stood at attention at one edge of the room. Avon, on the other hand, took the opportunity to sit down facing the screen.  
  
The woman smiled. "Avon, how nice to see you again."  
  
"Is it?" He replied blandly.  
  
"Of course, it is," she pouted slightly, "You never call me."  
  
Avon seemed amused by that. "Why should I? I don't want to talk to you."  
  
"It's too bad you can't always have what you want," she answered maliciously.  
  
He tired of the game. "What do you want, Servalan."  
  
She shrugged elegantly and got down to business. "I want to know how you're doing at improving the photon drive."  
  
He snorted. "It doesn't need improved, it needs redesigned. It will become unstable at speeds higher than Time Distort Six. That's a design flaw, not mechanical, and it's not my field," he lied easily.  
  
"You must be able to do something." Servalan's impatient nature was beginning to show through her languid facade, and Avon began to enjoy the conversation. Varel watched both of them and was grateful that they ignored him. He didn't want the Empress angry with him; it was too dangerous. It was a mystery to him as to why she had let Avon live this long.  
  
"I'm afraid not." Avon was replying almost graciously. "If I still had Orac, perhaps. . ."  
  
"It's a pity you can't figure out how to put it back together," she snapped acidly.  
  
"It's a pity that you insisted on taking it apart to begin with," he replied in the same manner.  
  
Varel didn't know how often they had this argument, but he had been in the house for eight months, and he'd heard it five times.  
  
Servalan glared at the Avon for a moment, and then glanced away from the screen. Her impatience melted away, and she became again the elegant and slightly malicious Empress Servalan. She turned back to the screen with a sweet, vicious smile and said softly, "I'm terribly sorry, but duty calls. I'll speak to you in a few days." Without waiting for an answer she cut the connection.  
  
Varel relaxed again. "I don't know how you stand her, Avon."  
  
"I have to." He stood again and resumed his slow pacing. Truth be told, Avon was sure he could fix the drive, and improve it, too. And with the correct parts he could have Orac working better than ever. But frustrating Servalan was more satisfying. It was his one source of amusement as he waited for her to kill him; he knew she would kill him eventually, and was, on balance, looking forward to it.  
  
As silence flowed through the room, the guard wondered if he could dare ask some of the questions he had, about Avon, and Blake.  
  
"How did you end up here anyway? I've heard stories, but I don't believe them. Your trial seemed entirely imaginary. What happened?" Varel didn't really expect an answer, but he saw no harm in trying.  
  
Avon glanced at him and then away again. "I fell in with the wrong crowd."  
  
"You mean Blake?" Varel tried to make the question sound casual, but he was aware of the restless tension in the computer genius.  
  
Avon made a small sound that almost sounded like a laugh. "I didn't think anyone remembered us, Blake and the Liberator." He seemed lost in unpleasant thoughts. "They're both dead, you know. All of them. Gan, Jenna, Cally, Blake, Dayna, Vila, Tarrant, even Soolin. All dead." His voice also, was dead.   
  
***  
  
Servalan cut the connection and sat for a minute gazing at the blank screen. The last six years had been good for her. After she had found Avon, and Orac, on Gauda Prime, her return to power was swift. With the propaganda value of a captured rebel and the knowledge Orac had given her, the resumption of her powers was easy. The Zerok gold had helped, of course.  
  
She had found Orac extremely difficult to endure after a while. It's obnoxious manner and constant resistance had grated on the most powerful woman in the Federation. Her computer techs had been unable to modify the programming, and finally in frustration she had ordered Avon to reprogram it. Avon had gotten it open and disassembled easily enough, but then professed himself unable to put it back together again. She hadn't believed him, of course, but after a week of interrogation, she'd had to change her mind. Avon dead was no use to her at all; alive he could be useful, on other projects. If she didn't have Orac, at least no one else did.  
  
She had called Avon from her private office, the main control center of the sprawling Federation. Beyond her taste in clothes, Servalan had never favored opulence; her office was white on white and extremely functional. Her dress for the day showed unusual restraint, a small print of black and silver on a white sheath.  
  
Space Commander Darren arrived while she was in the midst of her call to Avon. He was her current acting Supreme Commander. The life expectancy of a Supreme Commander under Servalan was predictably short, but Darren was proving very capable. He almost reminded her of Travis, back before he became obsessed with Blake. She smiled graciously at him. "What news have you brought me, Space Commander Darren?"  
  
He gave his report at parade rest, studying the wall behind her desk. "Pockets of rebellion are growing again, Empress. Some of the outer worlds are facing internal struggles, and there have been several pursuit ships destroyed without warning. I have sent extra troops to the troubled areas, but as soon as they leave their station, trouble breaks out behind them. It could almost be coordinated."  
  
"I'm quite sure it is. Why haven't I been informed of this?" She asked icily.  
  
Darren thought briefly of how her previous subordinates had died, but dismissed the thought immediately as disloyal. "Until Takma it seemed random, ma'am, nothing out of the ordinary." Darren showed no response to her anger.  
  
"What happened at Takma, then?"  
  
"Two weeks ago, Empress, there was a violent demonstration on Zeta Major. There is only one battalion stationed there, so troops were sent from Takma to assist. As soon as their ship left orbit, there was well planned attack on the capital, which fell into the hands of the rebels. When the troop ship attempted to return, it exploded. It seems likely that the bomb was planted on the ship while it was refueling on Takma. And that planet has always been quiet before. It has now declared itself independent of the Federation and a haven for rebels."  
  
"You will destroy it, of course." She said smoothly.  
  
"Yes, ma'am, but it will take some time. Takma and Zeta Major are right on the border, with no other systems nearby. And they've taken over the navigation beacons and communications systems. They may be able to hold out a few weeks." He remained staring straight ahead.  
  
"But the news will not get out. No one will know of their pathetic attempt. I rely on you for that." She smiled sweetly, razor sharp. "Is there anything else?"  
  
This was the hard part. Darren seemed to lose his detachment, showing unease for the first time. "Yes, ma'am. Your prisoner, Avon, may be a danger to you."  
  
She laughed lightly at that, "Oh, Commander, I assure you he is not. I never see him in person, and there is a guard inside the house at all times. Besides, he's lost his will to defy me. He can be rather. . .irritating, but never dangerous. He knows that I could kill him at any time."  
  
"Begging your pardon, Empress, but he doesn't seem impressed, from what I've seen."  
  
"Oh, no, he would rather be dead. That's what makes it so amusing to keep him alive." She smiled a predatory smile.  
  
Darren shuddered, but doggedly continued. The Federation was the only civilizing force in the universe, and he meant to keep it safe, whatever it cost him. "That's not exactly what I meant, though. There have been rumors, so vague that they weren't worth reporting. Rumors about a rebellion effort headed by Blake."  
  
Servalan lost her smile and stood up. "Don't be a fool. Blake is dead. Everyone must know Blake is dead, we showed that Gauda Prime footage every day for a year." She walked purposefully over to her side table and poured herself a drink. "Tell me all you know."  
  
Darren looked at her for the first time in the interview. "People are talking about Blake being behind all sorts of things. My men have been investigating, naturally." Actually, Darren had gathered quite a lot of information about the rebel. He had hoped to avoid telling the empress, to avoid her predictable - and lethal - reaction. Now, however, Blake was beginning to emerge as a real threat, and she would have to know.   
  
"We've determined that there is a rebel going by the name of Blake. And with the operation on Takma, it looks like someone is starting a full scale rebellion, and that's who most people think it is." He looked straight ahead again. "And that's why Avon might be a danger. He was with Blake. Blake might want him back."  
  
"Nonsense. I tell you Blake is dead, Avon killed him. You are dismissed, Space Commander. I expect you to destroy this Blake, and to wipe out the rebellion on Takma if you have to destroy the entire planet."  
  
She turned her back on him as he left the room, and sat back at her desk. Softly she repeated, "Blake is dead."  
  
***  
  
Somewhere in Federation space, an unremarkable ship was orbiting an unexceptional planet. It was a Horizon class battle cruiser, large enough for a crew of ten. A smaller ship began closing in, and when it got close enough, it slid into an open hangar door, which majestically glided shut once the shuttle was safe aboard.  
  
Inside the hangar, the shuttle landed gently, and a pressurized tube extended from the shuttle to an airlock in the side of the hangar. They locked together, and the shuttle was linked to the ship.  
  
The passageways of the ship were well lit, but they looked a lot like every other hallway in the universe. Silira came around a corner, with Vila close behind.  
  
"Whose ship is this?" he asked curiously.  
  
"Ours. It's called the Scalia. Come on, we're nearly to the flight deck. Blake will answer all your questions."  
  
They entered the flight deck from the rear, and Vila moved forward eagerly to get a look at whoever was there, barely noticing the console positions. He could tell they were similar to Liberator's, but more spread out. He stopped dead half way across the floor.  
  
The man standing in front of the view screen was fairly tall, with straight reddish blond hair. As he turned around, Vila could tell that his eyes were blue and direct.  
  
"You're not Blake." He tried to sound disgusted instead of disappointed.  
  
The man smiled gently. "Well, yes and no. I'm obviously not the Blake you travelled with. But my name is Blake, Talin Blake, and I hold the same goal. To crush the Federation and it's bloated Empress."  
  
Vila perked up at that. "Is she fat now? I never thought she'd get fat."  
  
Talin frowned quickly, then smiled again. "I was being metaphorical, Restal. She is bloated with power and cruelty."  
  
Vila nodded. "It does sound like Servalan."  
  
"Then you do know her?" Silira asked interestedly.  
  
Glad of an appreciative audience, Vila expounded, "Oh, yes, in the old days, anyway. She hasn't come calling in the last few years, but she used to show up everywhere we went. Nasty woman."  
  
Just then another woman entered the flight deck. She was small and of Asian descent, with long silky black hair. She, too, was wearing a jumpsuit. Blake went over to her and led her to Vila.  
  
"Restal, allow me to present our pilot, Loren."  
  
"How do you do," he asked eagerly. "It's a great pleasure to meet you." Loren nodded in his direction but excused herself to move to her station.  
  
Silira rolled her eyes, and Blake frowned slightly. "And here are the rest of the crew." He added, pointing at another entrance. In came a large black man and a young-looking girl with brown hair. They both looked interested and moved forward to greet him. "Restal, meet Rusk and Paige." They all smiled, and the new arrivals moved to their battle stations while Blake continued the introductions. "Rusk is our medic; he's saved my life already. He also operates the Scalia's weaponry and communications systems. Paige is the ship's engineer; she's come up with some valuable modifications. Of all the people in the revolution, this crew is the best." His voice showed his youthful pride in his followers.  
  
His crew must have been used to that kind of speech; none of them showed much reaction.  
  
"Blake," asked Paige, "Have you asked him yet?"  
  
"No, not yet." Blake turned back to Vila. "Restal, my goal is to defeat the Federation, as was yours. I have a small organization, with contacts on perhaps a dozen planets. We think we can win, if we move carefully enough. We were hoping to benefit from your experience and expert advice, Restal."  
  
Blake's use of Vila's surname was starting to irritate the thief. It meant that the rebel leader was taking him seriously and regarding him as an equal. Vila was unaccustomed to that, and quickly decided he didn't like it.  
  
"Great commanders, if they are to lead great armies, need great advisors." Gesturing grandly, Blake walked around the couch and put his arm around Vila's shoulders, forcing the smaller man to pace along. "My people here," his free arm fluttered expansively to indicate the others on the flight deck. For the most part, they were ignoring him with practiced skill. "are the best we have. But none of us possess your talents or vast store of experience. You were with Roj Blake, from the beginning. You can teach us many things. . ."  
  
During this speech, Vila had grown more and more uneasy, his eyes darting around the room as though looking for a place to hide. Paige glanced up and smiled sympathetically.  
  
"So, Restal, what do you say? What should we do first?"  
  
"We need to get Avon," Vila blurted out. He had not meant to mention his former friend at all, and was shocked to hear his own voice suggesting it. Being pulled into the midst of another rebellion, however, had reminded him forcibly of the early, invincible days on the Liberator. This Blake couldn't hold a candle to the original; the speeches were good, but he didn't seem very intense about it. Not very convincing. Vila also knew that he wouldn't be half as useful as Blake seemed to expect, and when they found out that opening doors was his main line, they might be less than kind in their disappointment. Avon at least understood him, as well as anyone, and wouldn't expect too much.  
  
Loren spoke up sharply, "Avon killed Blake, we all saw the tapes."  
  
Oh yes, Vila remembered those tapes. He also remembered those last months on Scorpio. Tensions unbearably high, and everyone slowly going mad, with Avon leading the way. The madness must have stuck, because Vila found himself defending Avon. None of these kids could understand, unless they'd been there. He lied rapidly. "I saw those tapes, too, and a load of rubbish I thought them. It was a setup from the beginning. Avon would never have threatened Blake if Blake hadn't gotten so suspicious. While they were in a standoff, the Federation arrived and got all of us. Then they fixed up the tapes to make it look like he'd killed him." The only record of those events had been a single fixed focus security scanner, and the tape was not the very clearest.  
  
"Actually, Restal," Blake said apologetically, "we've investigated the events on Gauda Prime. It seems certain that Avon did shoot Roj Blake. No one else had projectile weapons."  
  
"Well, it looked like Blake had betrayed us. Avon doesn't take well to that sort of thing." Vila explained defensively. A thought struck him. "You said you investigated. Do you know what happened to the others? I was stunned, and I woke up in a cell alone. I couldn't find any of the others, so I left. They hadn't even searched me."  
  
Paige took over the conversation. "As far as we've been able to tell, Vila, the Federation troopers under Arlen were working on their own initiative. Arlen had heard rumors of Blake, and wanted the credit for capturing him. She got herself into his organization. When she heard that the rest of you were coming, she saw it as a nice bonus. During the fighting, though, she was killed; someone hit her on the head. Her troops were left with Blake and their commander dead, and five strangers. It took six of them to bring Avon down. They took Blake's body and then left you to the mercy of the locals."  
  
"Avon was very heavily stunned, and Del Tarrant had internal injuries, so they put them into a hospital. You, they locked up, and you promptly disappeared. Apparently they planned to sell Soolin and Dayna at a local slave auction. Lovely planet. They loaded them on a skimmer and headed towards the main town, but the flyer never got there. A few weeks later, a spaceship was stolen from the 'port. As far as we know, the two of them are still working together, as mercenaries. When Del had recovered a little, he left as well."   
  
Paige's voice gentled "Avon didn't seem to recover. His body healed, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. The local we talked to had helped to guard him. He said that Avon seemed locked into himself. After a month or two, he started to make some progress, but then Commissioner Sleer arrived, and claimed him as her prize."  
  
Vila winced. He didn't exactly like Avon, but he knew what being Servalan's prisoner must have been like for him. "We ought to rescue him. He doesn't deserve that."  
  
"You and Avon are friends, then?" Silira asked.  
  
Vila blinked at that idea. "Well, no, I wouldn't say that, I don't think he has any left. But he is a genius, you know, and a survivor. If you make yourself useful enough to him, he'll ensure that you survive too. You said you wanted my advice; there it is. We need Avon."  
  
"That's what I've been saying all along." Paige pointed out softly, to no one in particular. Blake nodded an acknowledgment of her comment.  
  
"We considered that, but he's not easy to get to. He's imprisoned on Earth. They say the Empress keeps close tabs on him."  
  
"She would. We've got to get him out of there. If she hasn't ruined him already," he added with a worried frown. "No, she couldn't do that to Avon. And if she did, she'd probably kill him. No, if he's still alive, he's our best shot."   
  
A pained look crossed Blake's face.   
  
"I mean, our best bet."  
  
They promised to discuss it and Vila gratefully escaped to his cabin, also with a lot to think about. He craved something to drink, but they said they had none on board. Vila was not suited for and did not want the responsibility Blake was trying to give him, but at the same time, he was afraid of meeting Avon again. It had been six years since Avon had tried to kill him, but that wasn't something one forgot about. For the first time, Vila determined to think rationally about that shuttle trip. His fear was real, but his cowardice was pretence; he deliberately focused on that short shuttle ride, trying to put himself in Avon's place, trying to understand why his friend would try to kill him.  
  
***  
  
Avon was staring into the past with a grim look on his face when Varel offered him a drink. He became aware of the present once more and accepted it. He drained the drink in one swallow and set down the empty glass.  
  
Varel sat down again and tried to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. After a moment though, Avon began speaking again. "We were caught on Gauda Prime. It was a trap from the beginning, but we all fell in on schedule. The others were shot, and I was captured. The funny thing is, they didn't know who I was. Their inside man was killed. It was Blake they were after, and he was dead. I was in a prison for nearly six months. Then Servalan heard rumors about Orac, and about me. She claimed us both as spoils and used me, and it, to make herself empress. There was a trial, but not for any of the crimes I had committed. I was sentenced to stay here, where she could gloat over her prize. She also wanted me to invent things for her." He smiled suddenly.  
  
Varel considered that, still relaxed in the chair. "Well, it hasn't done her a lot of good, has it. I mean, Orac's broken and you haven't come up with anything else. What's the point?"  
  
Avon moved faster than he had in years, rounding on Varel and picking him up by the shoulders. He pinned the guard to the wall and spoke very carefully. "The point is, I have not done one thing to help that woman and I will not ever assist her. She was able to use me to regain political power, but that is the last benefit she will enjoy. If she were less arrogant, she would kill me now, because while I live, I am determined to kill her. This has nothing to do with politics, it is intensely personal." He released Varel suddenly and brushed off the man's uniform with a small smile. "Repeating that will do you no good, of course."  
  
Varel recovered his breath. "You needn't worry. I won't repeat it."  
  
As Avon turned away, he slid a sideways glance at Varel, but the guard was already resuming his relaxed position.  
  
***  
  
Vila had been in his cabin for about three hours when he heard a knock on the door. He sat up on the bed and called "Who is it?"  
  
A woman's voice answered. "It's Loren. May I ask you a few questions?"  
  
"Come in"  
  
The door gave a soft whoosh and she entered, sitting on the other bed. "Vila, I want to know why we need Avon." She stated calmly. "What's he good at?"  
  
Sarcasm, contempt, and killing people were the answers that sprang into Vila's mind, but he restrained himself. "He's good at survival. He's also good with computers, and gadgets. He made us a long-range detector shield once, and he can build a teleport system. Teleport's very handy. I'm not faulting your piloting, but shuttles are slow." Vila had decided during these last few hours of thought that if he was going to risk his life in the pursuit of liberty, he'd need someone he could trust to help him. These kids were all very well, but they didn't seem very experienced to him. On the other hand, Avon he knew, and knew exactly how far to trust him and under which circumstances. Besides, he really did miss teleportation as a mode of transport. Shuttles always made him nervous, somehow.  
  
Loren nodded agreement to his last statement. "Shuttle flying isn't my favorite occupation. Teleport would be an advantage, I suppose. Assuming we could get to him, would he come with us?"  
  
"No doubt about it. He hates being locked up, and he hates Servalan." Vila answered with complete conviction.  
  
"All right, then," Loren replied, getting up from her chair. "We'll get him out. We've been heading for Earth anyway; there are some stolen security codes we've been wanting to test. Be ready in three hours; you'll need to talk to him."  
  
"That's it? You don't need to discuss it with the others, or convince Blake?" Vila couldn't help asking.  
  
She smiled, but her voice was firm. "You'll soon realize, Vila, that Blake does whatever I want him to. Three hours, Vila." She left, still smiling.   
  
***  
  
Servalan terminated her call and sat for a minute pondering the information she'd just received. With a delicate frown, she pressed a button to open a channel to her communications center. When they responded, she ordered them to connect her to Space Commander Darren.  
  
Within seconds the screen lit up and revealed Darren. "Yes, Empress?"  
  
"Darren, I have received a report from one of your sources. It confirms what you suspected, that Avon may be a danger. I want you to arrange an accident for him." She said calmly, breaking the connection. Then she smiled, and added softly, "Good-bye, Avon. It has been . . ." her eyes searched the room delicately for the proper word. "Amusing."  
  
***  
  
Hours later, it was dark, and most of the city slept peacefully. Avon, however, tossed restlessly. As he slept, a shadowy figure of a man entered his room. The figure entered cautiously and crossed the foot of the bed to reach the side closest to the windows. He reached out and gently shook Avon's shoulder. Avon stirred, but didn't wake.  
  
"Avon . . . wake up, it's me." Vila said softly.  
  
Not yet awake, Avon nevertheless recognized that voice. It set off a chain of nightmare images. First, as always, Avon saw Blake's body, lying at his feet. Then he remembered seeing Dayna shot, and Vila, and Tarrant, even Soolin. His memory telescoped backwards again until he was once more on Egrorian's shuttle, searching for Vila. It was urgent that he find Vila, or else he'd be lost. Out of long practice, Avon terminated the nightmare sequence, and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dark shape looming over him. Out of instinct, he lunged.  
  
His weight toppled the intruder, and they fell to the floor. A small patch of moonlight illuminated Vila's face, and Avon froze, stunned. After a second he released his grip and rolled into a sitting position, a disbelieving expression on his face. It couldn't be.  
  
Vila moaned softly. "I didn't expect you to be happy to see me, Avon, but why try to kill me this time?"  
  
Well, perhaps it could.  
  
"An instinctive reaction," he explained distractedly, still staring as Vila sat up. "Vila, what are you doing here? I thought. . .they told me you were dead." He brushed distractedly at his forehead, trying to clear his mind.  
  
"I thought so too, but I wasn't. When I couldn't find any of you, though, I had to get out by myself. Now, I'm here to rescue you. Shall we go?"  
  
Avon had relaxed slightly, but at that question he snorted. "Is there anywhere to go?" he asked bitterly.  
  
"Of course. There's a shuttle, but if we don't get there soon, it will leave without us. I'll explain later, but we've got some new friends."  
  
"Well now," Avon mused. "Anything's better than staying here."  
  
"Alright, then, let's go. Silira's waiting by the gate."  
  
Avon held out a hand to restrain the thief. "We need to visit my workshop, in the basement. There are a few things I need."  
  
They stood up and made their way towards the workshop, being careful not to wake the guard. Once inside, Avon tossed the drive unit to Vila and opened a cabinet to reveal a familiar pile of plastic. Predictably, Vila complained about having to carry an old pile of junk, but Avon just smiled slightly and ignored him.  
  
Once they got outside the house, they were met by Silira. Vila introduced them quickly, and she handed out guns. "The patrols are everywhere. We'll need to be very lucky."  
  
"And a lot quieter than you have been," said Varel, emerging from the shadows with a gun drawn. Avon's gun was pointed directly at his head.  
  
"Avon, I don't want to kill you."  
  
"Why not? I thought it didn't matter to you if I were alive or dead."  
  
"I want to come with you," Varel insisted, holding his gun steady. Vila and Silira watched, waiting for a chance. "Avon, that woman murdered my family. You can confirm what I say once you get Orac going again. I want a chance to kill her."  
  
After a moment's pause, he spoke again. "Avon, I know you don't like taking risks and trusting people. Alright, I'll take the first risk." Very slowly, and without taking his gaze from Avon, he lowered his gun and reholstered it.  
  
A weapon fired, barely missing Avon. It came from on top of the wall, where a small squad of troopers was pouring in. Avon and Varel whirled away from each other and both began firing at the troopers. Silira joined the firefight while Vila concentrated on opening the gate and not getting shot. The troopers didn't seem prepared for the kind of resistance they were getting, and drew back. As soon as Vila got the gate open, they slipped out. Vila went first, carrying Orac. Silira carried the photon drive while Avon and Varel covered the rear. As they reached a corner, a troop transport came into view, but before they could fire, Silira recognized Rusk. "That's our ride, come on, get in." She and Vila climbed in first, followed by Avon and Varel. Rusk handed out troop helmets that must have come with the transport. "Put these on. In the darkness, we might pass for Federation."  
  
The ruse worked well enough to fool most of the patrols, and the ones that weren't fooled were shot. It seemed like forever, but only twenty long minutes passed before they arrived at the shuttle. Loren executed another emergency launch, barely giving them time to sit down before she lifted off at four g's. As soon as they docked with the Scalia, it pulled out of Earth orbit, a few minutes ahead of the nearest pursuit ship. When the shuttle had come to rest, Blake's crew bailed out to assist on the flight deck, leaving Vila to lead the others. As he was leaving the shuttle, Avon grabbed his arm.  
  
"Vila, I want some answers. Who are these people?"  
  
Vila looked smug, enjoying the rare situation of knowing more than Avon. He knew better than to withhold the information for long, though.  
  
"These people are the new rebellion, apparently. Their leader calls himself Blake." A look of pain crossed Avon's face, and Vila continued quickly. "Obviously, he's not the one we remember, but he is trying to defeat the Federation. He pulled me out of a prison on one of the frontier worlds, or rather, Silira did. Very nice girl, is Silira. And you haven't met Loren or Paige yet."  
  
"It's obvious why you're here. Why get me?"  
  
"They need you. And I thought you'd like the chance to go after Servalan. But who's he?" Vila asked, motioning towards Varel. "He looks like Federation to me."  
  
"Yes, that's what I've been meaning to ask him. Varel, give me one good reason not to kill you." His voice had a razor edge. "Why are you here?"  
  
"For a chance to revenge my family." Varel was more intense than Avon had ever seen him. "My parents were political criminals, executed when I was sixteen. I had a younger sister, I tried to take care of her. I thought if I were in the service, she'd be safe. But when she was fifteen, one of the officers saw her. He wanted her, so he took her. I could do nothing. She killed herself, but it was his fault. I stayed in the service hoping to get close to him, and I killed him, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't any worse than any other officer. The whole of the Federation is rotten to the core, and I want to do my damndest to destroy it." He sighed, and relaxed a little. "I don't expect you'll believe me, but there's always Orac."  
  
"That pile of junk?" Vila interrupted. "I thought it was broken."  
  
"It won't take more than a few minutes to fix, once I get the right parts. I'll check your story, Varel, as soon as it's done." Avon turned back to Vila, and paused. "It's. . .good to see you, Vila." He said slowly.  
  
Vila just nodded, as an artist accepting his due. "I knew you'd miss me. My talent, my charm, not to mention my good looks," he prattled, to cover the emotional moment.  
  
"If you had any, I might have missed you. As it is, I may hit you instead." Avon retorted, in his familiar sarcastic role. "In the meantime, Vila, do you know where the flight deck is?"  
  
"Yes, of course, it's right this way." He started off and then stopped, nearly causing a collision behind him. "No, it's definitely that way." He took a three-quarter degree turn to the right and set off again. Avon and Varel exchanged glances, and then followed at a safe distance. On the way, they felt the ship rock twice, presumably a gift from the pursuit ships.  
  
The three reached the flight deck just as Loren announced that they had outdistanced the last pursuit ship.  
  
"They were slow," commented Rusk soberly. "We should have had to fight."  
  
"But instead, we're safe away, with our prize," Blake stated proudly, gesturing towards Avon.  
  
Paige started towards him and then stopped. "We seem to have gotten a bonus."  
  
Avon smiled coldly, and walked forward. "How do you do. I'm Kerr Avon, and this is my former guard, Varel. He claims to have reformed. You can make up your own minds about that. I don't know who you are or what you want, but I want only two things: to kill Servalan and to be left alone."  
  
"Just like old times," Vila murmured.  
  
"Well, Avon," Blake smiled genially, "we can certainly work together. I would be most appreciative of your assistance."  
  
"That would be a change." Avon said, at his driest.  
  
"Where should I set a course for, Blake?" asked Loren.  
  
"Oh, somewhere remote. We'll need time to adjust our strategies to include our new crewmembers. Avon, Varel, and of course, Restal, welcome aboard."  
  
***  
  
"What!" The Empress was livid. "You allowed them to take Avon? Right under our noses. You are to consider yourself under arrest, for treason."  
  
Space Commander Darren remained calm. "Empress, it was part of a plan. I'd been working on it for months. I knew Blake was coming, and--" He was not allowed to finish his sentence.  
  
"More details you haven't seen fit to tell me? If you want to live for longer than another day, you will learn to tell me everything you do. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Empress. I've been tracking Blake for months. I've managed to get an agent on board his ship. You will know what Blake is doing before he does. And that will finally crush the rebellion."  
  
Servalan looked at him in grudging respect. "You had better be right, Darren. You know how I reward failure."  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Not to worry. Blake is finished before he's started."  
  
"If you are right, on the other hand, you will be my next Supreme Commander. You may leave me now." Servalan was almost gracious once more. He turned smartly and marched out of her office, while she sat back in her chair and contemplated the stars outside her window. "Go on, Blake. When I want you, I shall have you, and Avon as well. And this time I will kill him. Slowly." Slowly, she smiled.  
  
***  
  
--continued in part 2: Aristo--  



	2. Aristo

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.   
  
__________________________  
  
  
Aristo  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
__________________________  
  
  
  
In a pristine white room on Earth, the Empress Servalan was grilling her acting Supreme Commander about Kerr Avon's rescue. Commander Darren tried to remain impassive as she peppered him with questions.  
  
"How did Avon escape that house? And what's become of the guard? Someone must have helped him." Her gown swished as she took another unhurried, relentless step around the room. "Avon had lost his will to resist me."   
  
"We've determined that at least two people were involved. One of them either bribed the guard or knew how to open the magnetic lock." Darren paused as Servalan made a small gesture of bad temper.  
  
"Vila," she murmured incomprehensibly. "I should have killed him." She became aware that he was hesitating. "Go on."  
  
"There was no trace of the guard. He may have been taken as a hostage and killed later. Or he may have deserted." Darren failed to comprehend how anyone could so neglect their duty, but he knew that some of the younger officers were not as loyal. And if he recalled correctly, that guard already had a black mark on his record, something about the mysterious death of a commanding officer. No proof, just enough suspicion to get the man (Varel, that was his name), grounded out of pilot's training and into a punishment tour of duty, Earthbound.  
  
"So this new Blake decided to free Avon," she concluded thoughtfully. "Why now? Why not some years ago?"  
  
"Judging from our reports, ma'am," Darren offered impassively, "this Blake only began operating about a year or so ago. He's never done anything much, besides stealing one of our experimental battleships. It had a faulty drive mechanism, so it's probably destroyed by now. Our ships rarely come in contact with this Blake, so we don't know."  
  
"What of the agent you claim to have on board his ship?" Servalan asked sharply. "Haven't you received any information?"  
  
"The policy has been to maintain the barest minimum of contact with the agent," Darren replied carefully. "It wouldn't do to have the rest of the crew suspicious."  
  
"No," she agreed, watching Darren. "No, that wouldn't do at all."  
  
***  
  
Loren Espejo was taking a well deserved break on Scalia's flight deck, her long black hair floating over the flight couch. Talin Blake was sitting next to her, in a more upright posture, but relaxing nevertheless. The crew stations on the Scalia were fixed in a pyramid, obviously someone's idea of a copy of the Liberator. The medic, Rusk, was at his communications station, monitoring routine traffic. These people had worked together for some time, and it showed in their ability to be quiet and comfortable together. The atmosphere on the flight deck changed subtly when Avon walked on.  
  
Even a few hours of freedom had worked a wonderful change in Avon. He looked more relaxed, and more sure of himself. He wasn't exactly happy to find himself in the midst of rebellion again, but it was better than being a prisoner, and he'd never expected to be happy.  
  
He walked up to Blake, mentally noting the contrasts between this Blake and the original. This man was slightly taller, it seemed, with short, straight, reddish blond hair. But it wasn't the man's looks that was important, it was his tactics and resources. Avon began his questioning bluntly. "If I'm to stay with you, I'll need to know what I'm dealing with. You claim to have a rebel alliance of sorts. I'd like to hear details."  
  
Blake inclined his head graciously. "Avon, please, sit down. We enjoy popular support on a great number of worlds. All free-thinking people everywhere, in fact."  
  
Avon treated him to a mild "look", a level stare which seemed to disconcert him.  
  
Loren spoke up in his stead. "We have informal treaties from the governments of seven planets, right now. You'll recognize some of them: Lindor, Albion, Exbar. We're concentrating our efforts in Sectors 4 and 5, not too near to Earth, but close enough. Takma & Zeta Major have just joined, as well, but it will be a close run thing to keep them. The Scalia is the command ship, but we have two scouts and a pursuit ship, as well. There are several hundred people on twenty or more worlds, and all coordinated and controlled from here." Her voice was emotionless and precise. Part of her ancestry was undeniably Asian, and she had all of the legendary inscrutability of her race. Avon searched her face for a moment, then gazed speculatively at Blake. The blond rebel smiled blandly, seeming less intense than his pilot, more diffuse. Avon seemed satisfied with what he saw there, smiling tightly.  
  
"That's. . .not bad," he admitted. "What of your tactics?"  
  
Again, Loren answered. "We try to avoid direct confrontation, working behind the scenes, encouraging rebel groups, where we can. We assist in battles when we can't avoid it, but our main goal is to supply and coordinate ground forces. With careful planning and good information we've helped to free four planets in two years," she finished proudly.  
  
Blake coughed, and interjected, "Of course, it's not quite the same way it used to be, but, well, this ship. . ."  
  
Loren flushed slightly and glared at her seatmate. "There's nothing to be gained by rushing around and blowing things up all at random. It certainly didn't get *them* anywhere." Venom colored her voice, and Avon took a new look at her.  
  
Blake fidgeted in his seat. "Yes, dear, you're right, of course, but it's not what Avon's used to, you know."  
  
She transferred her gaze from Blake to Avon and apologized insincerely. "We're doing this slow but sure. Our plans are laid months in advance. We-"  
  
"Leaving plenty of time for a traitor in your ranks to report to his superiors?" Avon interrupted nastily. He had realized that the driving force behind this rebellion was not Blake, but the small Asian pilot. It made no difference to him, except that women were sometimes easier to intimidate. After five years as Servalan's pet inventor, he never intended to be powerless again.   
  
"We have our methods of discovering traitors, Avon." Loren smiled coolly, restraining her anger. Anger was a distracting emotion, to be avoided.  
  
Avon smiled in return. The challenge had been issued and accepted, and he almost looked forward to the battle.  
  
From the communications station, Rusk watched, and shook his head slowly.  
  
***  
  
Varel woke suddenly, with a soldier's reflexes. He quickly ascertained that he was in a small room. There was a second bed, which looked rumpled, but the occupant was nowhere to be seen. From the vibrations, he could tell he was on a spacecraft. This must, then, be the Scalia, the ship he and Avon had escaped to yesterday. At least, he amended with an wry smile, Avon had escaped. Varel himself had deserted his post as Avon's prison guard. During the eight months of his duty as live-in jailer for Avon's house arrest, he had begun to know Avon as well as anyone could. He had to admire the man's spirit. Even after six years of imprisonment, Avon could still defy and infuriate the Empress Servalan. Varel had his own reasons to despise the Federation, but Avon was his sole impetus for joining the rebellion.  
  
He found that he had slept in his black uniform. He tried to straighten it out, but then decided he didn't care. As a last thought, he tore off the Federation insignia, leaving it on the bed as he left the cabin in search of the flight deck.  
  
He didn't recognize the layout of the ship, but he figured that he'd either find a diagram or someone who could direct him. He'd been patient for the past few months, but now he was ready for some action.  
  
He'd hardly turned the first corner before he encountered Silira. In looks, they were similar, both tall, blond and slender. Varel looked more friendly, though. Silira gazed at him in suspicion. "Where were you going?"  
  
Varel smiled broadly. "I was trying to locate the flight deck, but I believe I'm quite lost. By the way, what was your name again?"  
  
His charm seemed to be wasted. "I'm Silira Ree, and the flight deck is the other way," she replied stiffly. "Perhaps I should show you."  
  
"I'd appreciate it," he replied, pulling back on the charm, and switching to sincerity. "I am grateful to all of you for letting me join your group. I realize you don't trust me,"  
  
"Why should we?" shot Silira over her shoulder, feigning complete disinterest. "You're a Federation officer." Her voice dripped scorn on those last two words.  
  
"No doubt about it," Varel muttered, and then smiled slightly when Silira's step faltered. He finished his comment at the same level. "I've got to find some new clothes."  
  
***  
  
Having been rescued first, Vila was fairly familiar with the layout of the Scalia. So when he woke up, he headed straight for the kitchen. He hadn't been able to find any chemical stimulants on board, but at least the food was good. While he was eating, Paige entered the large room. She was small, and looked younger than she was, with straight brown hair caught behind her neck, and pretty blue eyes.  
  
"Hullo Paige. Care to join me for breakfast?"  
  
She smiled. "No, thanks, Vila. I've already eaten. I just thought I'd come over and talk."  
  
"I'm always willing to talk to a pretty girl," he replied gallantly, out of habit, motioning for Paige to join him.   
  
Paige sat, seeming unsure of how to begin. "How do you like your cabin?"  
  
"It's nice enough. Mind you, I'll have to fix it up a bit, once we stop at a civilized world." The cabin had obviously been designed as a double, but Vila wasn't going to ask why he had it to himself. If he said anything, someone would probably move in.   
  
"It beats a cell, doesn't it?" Paige teased gently.  
  
"No doubt, no doubt. That cell back on Zephron was as depressing as any I've been in, and believe me, I've seen the lot."  
  
Paige couldn't suppress a grin at his expertise, and Vila smiled back. He liked talking to Paige; it was nice to not have someone biting his head off every other sentence.  
  
"Speaking of cells, Paige, how did you know how to find me? I thought I was pretty well hidden."  
  
"The Terra Nostra. Blake likes to deny it, but you're a thief, and a good one. We figured that you'd probably have ended up working for them at some point."  
  
Vila shuddered slightly. "They can be very convincing. But when they started talking about breaking all my fingers, I decided to resign."  
  
"Yes, well, I can understand that. They were fooled for a while, too, but eventually they caught on. Silira used to be. . .connected with them, and she's still got contacts. They were talking about killing you, but we got there first."  
  
Vila looked impressed. "How'd she get that kind of information?"  
  
Paige smiled wryly. "She can be very convincing, too."  
  
Vila concentrated on finishing his breakfast, and Paige decided to change subjects.  
  
"Vila, how do you think Avon is doing? I mean, after you all were captured on Gauda Prime he was completely withdrawn. He must have recovered a lot, in six years, but is he back to normal?"  
  
"I certainly hope not," Vila said impulsively, then hurried to rephrase his comment. "I mean, he never was normal. He looks alright to me, though. He seems more relaxed than I remember, but it's hard to tell. Those last few months were a nightmare." A look of great sadness crossed Vila's face. "It was hard on all of us, but worst for Avon. I don't think he was quite sane."  
  
Paige was unsure how to respond. She hadn't seen much of Avon yet, but he seemed acceptable. She considered herself quite expert at judging people by their movements and gestures. Her first impression of Avon had been of a man of hard edges and complex twists, but what he was concealing was beyond her, and that had caught her interest. She wanted to ask more, but her innate caution stopped her from revealing too much of herself, so she changed the subject.  
  
"Well, it will be good to have new people on board. We'd been getting too complacent, too settled. And Silira has been looking forward to meeting you - she gets restless amongst all us relatively honest people."  
  
Vila's eyes lit up at the prospect of a fellow thief. "What's her specialty?"  
  
Paige hid a grin. "She used to be an assassin." Vila recoiled as if he'd been bitten. "She's given it up, of course. She's another one that Blake chooses not to think about. He'd rather use only honest, upright citizens to fight his rebellion, but what few there are seem to be more interested in protecting their privileges. So he's forced to recruit convicted criminals - yourself, Avon, Silira, me." She looked straight at him as if daring him to ask. It was nothing the others didn't know, and being honest on some levels made it easier to conceal other things. "Even Rusk was accused of illegal practice of medicine." She concluded on a light note.  
  
Vila cocked his head and studied her. She didn't look like a criminal, and he should know. "You? What were you arrested for?"  
  
Paige laughed, but it was a poor attempt. "One of my relatives deserted from Space Command. Neither my mother nor I had ever met him; I doubt he even knew we existed. Still, we were convicted as enemies of the state, and sent to Cygnus Alpha." She paused for effect, then added. "I was 12 years old."  
  
"That's terrible! I hope that relative of yours got what was coming to him."  
  
Paige smiled then, suddenly looking very young and full of mischief. "You'd know that better than I would, but it would seem that he did."  
  
When the thief looked inquisitive, she took out her ident card and handed it to him. Vila looked at it curiously, and then his mouth dropped open. He raised his eyes slowly from the card to her face, and questioned disbelievingly. "Paige. . .Tarrant?"  
  
***  
  
The Empress Servalan prowled the room impatiently. Acting Supreme Commander Darren stood at attention before her desk, doing his best to remain emotionless.  
  
"Have you finished with the investigation?" she asked.  
  
"There were at least four people helping him, ma'am. One person got past the lock and inside the house, while another stayed outside. A third stole a troop transport, and the last one piloted the shuttle."  
  
"What happened to the guard in the house?"  
  
"We don't know. No body was found. It was Captain Varel. He'd never shown any rebel sympathies, but perhaps, in his close contact with Avon. . ." he let his voice trail away.  
  
The Empress didn't seem to notice the slight to her former favorite prisoner. "If Vila opened the door," she commented to herself, "Blake must have them both." She paused, and then continued in a louder voice, "Commander Darren, have you heard from your agent recently?"  
  
Darren steeled himself to answer very carefully. It wouldn't do to admit what little control he had over his 'agent'. "Not as such. We have to be very careful of arousing suspicion. In this instance, it seems fairly obvious that Blake will be headed for Takma, to have a part of the showdown there."   
  
Servalan considered this, and then began to smile. "Well, then," she purred. "We can eliminate two problems at one stroke. Prepare to leave for Takma, immediately. Take as much of the fleet as you need. I want that rebellion crushed."  
  
***  
  
When Silira and Varel arrived on the flight deck, a tense silence greeted them. Loren stood at the pilot's station, glaring at her instruments. Blake was standing next to her, murmuring softly and stroking her back. Avon was examining what Varel assumed to be Orac. Silira shrugged and crossed to the weaponry station.  
  
Varel walked slowly towards Avon. He wasn't sure how to act, so he decided to plunge right in. "So this must be Orac. If it does only half the things you and Servalan argued about, it will be worth it. How'd you get to keep it, anyway?"  
  
Avon glanced up at him and then returned to his inspection. "Orac is worth almost anything. And I kept it because I made Servalan a fake copy. That's why some of the parts are missing, and why we need to replace them."  
  
Blake looked up and asked, "Where do you think we could get the parts?"  
  
Avon straightened and turned to face the young rebel leader. "Any top computer or cybernetics lab would have them. The data banks and specialized equipment is intact. I need linkages and some basic circuitry."  
  
"Why bother?" Loren demanded contemptuously. "It's nothing but a computer. Our ship's computer, Vision, is quite adequate for our needs."   
  
Vila walked in the rear entrance and smiled. "If it's computers you're arguing about, it must be Orac. And it's not even fixed yet. Avon," he added, mock seriously, "are you sure you couldn't redesign it as a drinks dispenser? This ship could use one."  
  
"Back to your favorite pastime, I see," Avon observed, with a hint of a smile.  
  
"I would if I had half a chance." He turned to the doctor. "Rusk, are you sure I couldn't have a drop of soma, for medicinal purposes?"  
  
"I only prescribe it for insomniacs, and from what I've seen, you've no trouble sleeping." Rusk grinned, a startling flash of white teeth in his dark face.  
  
Vila groaned and sat down on the couch.  
  
Avon turned back to Loren and continued the argument. "Your shipboard computer will run this ship. Orac will tell you what all the other ships in the galaxy are doing. If you are willing to throw away that advantage, I may as well turn you in for the reward myself."  
  
Loren stiffened, and Blake intervened. "You said the parts you needed could be obtained in a computer lab. We may be able to buy them on Takma."  
  
Most of the people in the room turned to stare at him in amazement.  
  
"Buy? What d'you mean, buy?" Vila was indignant, Loren unamused. "We won't have time. There's a rebellion, remember?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. These parts are quite sophisticated. No frontier world would have them." Avon's calm statement cut the chatter.  
  
Blake looked puzzled. "How would we get them, then?"  
  
"Perhaps a raid?" Avon suggested impatiently.  
  
"We've never done that before. I'll have to think about it," Blake offered doubtfully.  
  
"I begin to appreciate the advantages of having a smuggler for a pilot," Avon commented.  
  
Vila moved restlessly, then offered lightly, "I suppose we could take it back to the shop. Do you think they'd honor the warranty?"  
  
Loren snapped at him to shut up, but Avon was struck by an idea. "Of course! It's perfect. Blake, set us a course for Aristo."  
  
Blake looked confused. "But no one lives there. It's mostly water."  
  
"No one lives there anymore," Avon corrected him. "Aristo is where Ensor lived. And died."  
  
Blake moved towards the navigation console until stopped by Loren's voice, heavy with irony. "If you haven't forgotten, we have a rebellion to assist on Takma. If we lose that system, no other planet will ever take a chance on us."  
  
Rusk watched the tense threesome and sighed. He stepped down from his flight position at communications and approached the combatants. "Perhaps we can arrive at a compromise," he suggested placidly, having none in mind. Both Avon and Loren glared at him.  
  
"It seems obvious enough to me," came Paige's calm voice, startling the group on the flight deck, who hadn't noticed her entrance. Now she moved in from the hallway. "Drop off Avon, Orac, one or two others on Aristo. The rest go on to Takma. If Ensor lived there, some of us could manage for a few days."  
  
Blake hailed the suggestion as the perfect compromise, and they began to make plans. Fortunately, Aristo was not far off their present course. The landing party was chosen by Loren: Avon, Silira and Paige packed up their surface clothes and rode the shuttle down to a sandy beach.   
  
Avon had jury-rigged a connection between Orac's memory banks and Vision, so that they had a description of the lab's defenses. According to Vision, the force field around the lab was still intact, so it must have a working power source. They would have to go in through the tunnels, and face the amphibious creatures that lived in them, but at least the lab still had power.  
  
Once her passengers were safely disembarked, Loren blasted off again, glad to be rid of Avon. Scalia began moving towards Takma as soon as the shuttle was docked.  
  
"Vision, time of our arrival at Takma?" Rusk inquired from the pilot's station.  
  
+17 hours+ It was the first time Vila had heard the computer speak, and he jumped a little at the feminine voice. Blake noticed his reaction and smiled.  
  
"Yes, Vila, Vision has a woman's voice pattern. It's the voice of the ship, really, and ships have always been female."  
  
"Oh, yes," Vila agreed vaguely, looking puzzled.  
  
"And like a woman, Vision tends to dismiss us as unimportant" Rusk interjected.   
  
Vila nodded. He could relate to that.  
  
***  
  
It was warm on Aristo, and the surface party quickly opened their jackets. Avon checked his chart, and pointed uphill, towards the planetary East. "The trap door should be a few hundred yards that way."  
  
Silira started out at an easy pace, with her gun in hand. Paige followed her, looking around and enjoying the scenery. "Isn't it lovely?" she asked Avon. "I've been on spaceships too long. There's such a feeling of freedom."  
  
"Freedom is an illusion," he informed her, in a voice heavy with irony.  
  
"Yes, I know," she replied simply, "but you may as well enjoy it, don't you think?"  
  
"Avon, Paige," they heard Silira call from over a small hill. "I think I've found it!" They increased their pace. Avon was beginning to mind carrying Orac by the time he got to the top of the rise. Silira continued, "There's a trap door here, anyway. How many trap doors in the sand are you going to find on your average deserted planet?" Avon was reminded briefly of Sarran, but willed the thought away.  
  
Silira and Paige set to work opening the trap door, so Avon put Orac down on the sand and watched. In a few moments, they had it open, and they could see the ladder leading down to the tunnels. They peered down for a minute and then Silira looked over at Avon.  
  
"Are you a good shot?" she asked abruptly. He inclined his head affirmatively.  
  
"Good. Come over here and cover me, will you? I can't fire a gun well while climbing down a ladder, and, no offense, Paige, but for a marksman, you're quite a good engineer."  
  
Paige laughed softly. "It's okay, Sil. I know I can't shoot. Loren only put me down here out of spite."  
  
Avon got a good position beside the hole in the ground and commented, "You should be safe on the ladder. These creatures aren't used to direct sunlight."  
  
"Well, then we're set." Silira climbed down. The ladder was only a little taller than she was, about two meters. "Paige," she called up, "if you come down next, Avon can lower Orac down to us, and then come down himself."  
  
That worked well, and once they were all down, Avon closed the trap door. They all had powerful hand lights, which illuminated the tunnels. A few feet down the corridor, there was a passage leading off to the right, but Avon's map indicated they'd do better to go straight.  
  
The tunnels were roughly carved and wet, with a few centimeters of water covering the floor. They maintained their marching order. Silira went first, with her gun ready. Paige kept close behind her with the light. Avon walked last, with Orac.   
  
Silira kept up a running commentary. "It gets a little deeper up here, but the floor seems even enough. Mind your head, Avon, the ceiling's getting friendly."  
  
They followed the chart with little difficulty. At one spot, it looked as if the tunnel had collapsed, but someone or something had dug a passage through. It was slow going, but eventually, they reached their destination, a smooth wall with a roughly rectangular hole in it. What seemed to have been a door was hanging crookedly by one hinge, covering perhaps two thirds of the opening. Silira pushed at it with her gun, but it didn't budge. "Avon, do you think you could move this for me?"  
  
"Of course." It took some maneuvering to get him close enough to the entrance, but once in position he was able to move the door out of their way. When he reached back to gather Orac, Silira pushed past him and out into the corridor, gun ready.  
  
***  
  
As Scalia approached Takma, Rusk received a call from the new president of the planet, Kasren. Fortunately, Blake was on the flight deck, talking quietly with Vila and Varel. Rusk put the call on the screen.  
  
"Blake, you are coming. We feared that something had happened to you." Kasren was no longer young, and he looked worried, although he tried to hide it.  
  
"Something did, sir," Blake responded with a confident smile. "We've acquired new crewmembers, and more advantages over the Federation. So there was an unavoidable delay. We will still be in place before the Federation arrives, never fear. How is the situation there?"  
  
Kasren had begun to relax, calmed perhaps by Blake's confidence. "It's not as bad as it could be. The people are behind us, but not solidly so. Our planetary defenses are meager. I'm afraid we've always relied on the Federation to protect us." The man's voice had risen slightly in his tension. He looked strained almost to the breaking point.  
  
Blake smiled gently, and replied in a soothing voice, "This ship is the most advanced design that the Federation has. And the force shield is better than the Federation's. We can protect you." Vila saw the president relax again, and decided that Blake might have his uses after all. Just watching Blake made Vila feel more confident about their plan, which he had previously decided would never work.  
  
"Remember, sir, that the Federation's greatest enemy is the truth. The more people know of their tyranny, the harder they will fight. Remember also, you will be formally accepted by the Democratic Alliance tomorrow. That means that you will have allies. You know that Albion is sending support, both military and trade, and President Sarkoff of Lindor will also contribute." His voice changed slightly from reassuring to bracing. "Tell your people that they must fight. Leave them no illusions about surrender. They have chosen a hard road, but there is no retreat now. The Federation will never forgive, or forget. Let them know that winning is the only safety."  
  
Vila winced at that last phrase, but President Kasren seemed inspired. "Thank you, Blake. I know what I shall say to them, now. And when are you planning to arrive?"  
  
"Approximately five hours, Terran Standard. We will be in touch with General Tawn before we achieve orbit." Blake nodded to Rusk, who cut the connection.  
  
+Hate to interrupt, Tal, but it will actually only take 4 hours at our current speed.+ Vision observed.  
  
"Thank you, Vision." Blake responded carefully. "And I suggest you examine your translation circuits. My name is Talin Blake, and you should call me Blake." He seemed a bit annoyed.  
  
Vila lowered his glass of vitamin concentrate, fascinated. "Where'd you get that computer?"  
  
When Blake didn't answer, Rusk did. "It's the product of new interactive technology. It learns as it goes along, so it can adapt. In this case, she spends too much time with Silira and Paige, and picks up their bad habits."  
  
"Hate to interrupt," Varel said lazily, mimicking the computer, "but does it matter that you didn't tell that guy anything? I ask only out of idle curiosity."  
  
"Kasren was looking for reassurance, not details." Blake explained. "General Tawn knows what plans we have, and he will be the one working with us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with Loren."  
  
"Oh," Varel said vaguely. He watched Blake go, and then leaned towards Vila. "Do *we* know what plans we have?"  
  
"Of course. Oh, yes, you were sleeping. You see, it's like this. We hold off the Federation's fleet with this one ship, until they declare the alliance. Then the Federation backs off because everything is legal, and everyone knows." He smiled derisively.  
  
Varel looked at him wryly. "And Blake believes this will work?"  
  
"He may," Vila replied, swallowing the last of his drink. "I don't."  
  
***  
  
Paige stepped through the wall into a nondescript hallway. The lights still worked, and the air was only slightly stale. Avon climbed through after her, and put Orac down on the floor so he could straighten and stretch. Paige saw the mud on his clothes, and became acutely aware of her own state of disarray. Her boots were a wet color between brown and green, and her hair had escaped the clip at the back of her neck. To cover her confusion, she knelt and tried to lean the panel back over the hole in the wall.  
  
Avon inspected her as she stood slowly, and asked, "Are you tired?"  
  
"I'm fine, thanks. After all, I suppose I wanted adventure." She began walking after Silira.  
  
He picked Orac up again and fell in step beside her. "I only wanted peace."  
  
She glanced up at him with interest. "Then I hope you find it. In the meanwhile, life on Scalia isn't too bad. So far, we haven't done much."  
  
Silira came back in time to hear the last comment. "Yes, Loren's not too keen on action. Slow but sure, she says. I suppose it's working, but it lacks style. Anyway, to the right here is only living quarters, as far as I can tell. The lab should be in that direction. No evidence of your amphibious friends, either."  
  
Avon walked off in search of the lab. He found it a wreck. In contrast to the sterile white of the hallways, the lab was a cluttered room, overflowing with scientific paraphernalia and dead plants. He found a cart that must have been designed for Orac, and set down the computer with relief. He set about looking for spare parts, and found diagrams instead.  
  
A few minutes later, Paige came in quietly, and asked, "Have you found what you were looking for?"  
  
"Not yet. These are some of Ensor's plans. He had some ideas I could use, but I've got to reassemble Orac before I can improve it." Putting the diagrams aside, he began opening drawers at random. "Aha. Just what I needed."  
  
Paige watched as he cleared a work space for himself on one of the wide tables. "May I help?"  
  
He looked up sharply at her offer. "If you think you can manage not to drop or break anything."  
  
"I shan't." She smiled shyly. "This looks like it could be fun."  
  
Avon inspected her more closely, then looked down at Orac once more. "You should wait until we've finished to decide that."  
  
***  
  
The Scalia had been in orbit around Takma for less than an hour when the Federation ships appeared on their screens. The crew had spent that time familiarizing themselves with their battle stations. Vila had been given the weaponry console, and Varel had control of the force wall. Loren and Rusk were in their customary positions, and Blake was striking a brave pose in the center of the flight deck.  
  
As the Federation flotilla advanced, Vision announced indifferently, +We've got four pursuit ships with a battle cruiser bringing up the rear.+  
  
"Right." Blake squared his shoulders and faced the video link. "Rusk, open a channel to the battle cruiser, if you would. Audio and visual."  
  
Rusk's large hands manipulated the controls with a surprising deftness, and the vid screen came alive. The Space Commander facing Blake looked weary but determined.  
  
Before Blake could begin, the officer spoke. "I am Space Commander Darren. I represent the Empress Servalan and it is my intention to prevent your takeover of this planet." His voice was flat, his eyes expressionless.  
  
"My name is Blake," replied the rebel leader, and was disappointed at the lack of reaction from the Federation man. "This planet has decided freely to reject the rule of the Federation and its Empress. We are here to assist its people in their quest for freedom. We will resist your imperialistic aggression." As he paused for breath, Rusk cut the connection.  
  
Blake spun around. "What did you do that for?" he asked, sounding peeved.  
  
"The pursuit ships are getting too close, Blake. We must concentrate on them," Loren informed him crisply. He sniffed and sat down on the couch next to Varel.  
  
The first round of the battle was a confused jumble of images. Vila's first shot went wide, but, never a slow learner, he destroyed one of the ships with his second bolt. With help from Blake, Varel managed the force wall efficiently. Paige had done a good job improving it; even when they were hit directly the ship merely rocked.  
  
The piloting was the hardest job. The pursuit ships were much more maneuverable than the Scalia, and tended to attack from both flanks.  
  
The crew worked well together, with Blake calling the sequence of events. "Plasma bolt launched and running at 90 degrees. . .Turning right and down, 20 by 15. . .Raise force wall, now!" Varel complied, and everyone braced themselves for the jolt. "Target bearing 30 degrees," announced Vila calmly, trying not to think about what he was doing. "Fire!" "Target destroyed"  
  
After an endless time, the final pursuit ship reverted to its component atoms. Everyone relaxed somewhat, and then checked for damage. The enhanced force wall had protected the ship from the plasma bolts, with some minor damage occurring when the ship rocked. By this time, however, the Federation battle cruiser was nearly in combat position. It was almost as large as the Scalia, with the potential for superior firepower. Loren turned Scalia to face her opponent head on as Rusk announced, "I have word from the Albion fleet. They'll be in position in another 2 hours. They've gotten word of a larger force on their way from Earth, which should be arriving in another 2 and a half hours."  
  
"Good," Blake nodded approvingly. "If we can keep this cruiser occupied, the fleet will be in a good defensive position. Can we destroy that ship?"  
  
"Not easily," Loren replied, checking her gauges. "However, we could try the Ryder Gambit. If we pretend damage, and start to leave orbit, it's likely that they'll follow us. We can lead them off, slowly, and keep them occupied until the Albion fleet is in position."  
  
Blake nodded decisively. "We'll do it. But we'll need a bit of a battle now, to be damaged in. Start slowly moving away from Takma while we're fighting. We'll need to move away from the Albion fleet, of course, and we shouldn't head directly towards Aristo, either."  
  
"I know, Blake," Loren replied, irritated at his stating the obvious. She started maneuvering the Scalia again, and the battle against the cruiser began.  
  
***  
  
As the Scalia was leading the Federation astray, Avon laid down his laser probe and sighed. "That's most of it done." He sat back, tired but satisfied that the work had gone well, that he hadn't lost his touch.  
  
Paige sat down as well. It had been exhilarating for her to work on such a complex system, and a pleasure to work with someone who was so skilled. She asked with a smile, "Didn't I say this would be fun?"  
  
Avon looked at her and reluctantly smiled back. It was a genuine, pleased smile, breaking over Paige's nerve endings like warm sunshine after the rain. She was breathless from the sweetness of it. They had worked together smoothly, and Avon was enjoying a rare moment of being in complete harmony with another human being. He recovered himself quickly, of course, and murmured, "Your taste in amusements is open to question."  
  
"Ah, well. Those of us who spend our formative years on prison planets do tend to be a bit odd." She watched him closely, curious as to his reaction.  
  
He regarded her steadily, seemingly unmoved. "Did you expect shock, or pity?"  
  
She shrugged. "I wasn't sure. Vila was horrified, although I don't see why. By all accounts he grew up a criminal. Cygnus Alpha was difficult, but it could have been worse. My mother protected me. Anyway, I only bring it up because you might be interested to know that Del Tarrant is, or was, my uncle."  
  
Avon's eyes narrowed slightly. "I didn't know he had any family."  
  
"Neither did he. Deeta Tarrant was my father, but I don't think they were close, so Del wouldn't have known about us. So anyway, now if it comes up in conversation, you can't say I didn't tell you." The subject of her family was old and not particularly pleasant for Paige, so she hurried past it as best she could. "I'll go see if Silira's made us any dinner, shall I?"  
  
She left without waiting for an answer, as Avon contemplated the news. After a few minutes, he decided that it was of no consequence. Tarrant had been annoying but useful. His niece, if she was his niece, seemed to be less annoying and more useful. She was, in fact, the best assistant he'd had for some time, even better than Vila. The little thief had nimble fingers, but he refused to be quiet.  
  
He put down his laser probe and followed Paige to the living quarters. He found her standing in the middle of a large common room, looking puzzled. At his entrance she started, and seemed wary.  
  
"Is there any sign of Silira?" he asked blandly, looking around the main room.  
  
"No, there isn't. I'm rather concerned. Those phibian things could easily get in here." She cast another anxious glance around the room, and then declared, "I'm going to look for her."  
  
"Between the two of us, we should find her rather quickly," Avon agreed, then asked abruptly, "Have you a gun? Can you use it?"  
  
"Yes, and well enough." Paige felt some of her nerves calm at Avon's abrupt assumption of command. They exited the room together, and then set off in opposite directions. The gun felt odd in Paige's grasp, but she disregarded the feeling in favor of concentrating on the stark corridors. She also listened intently, and presently, she began to hear a soft sound. She couldn't tell if it was real, or merely her imagination, but she followed it as best she could, trying to keep silent herself.  
  
The corridors seemed an endless maze, turning every six meters or so, with the monotony only broken by the occasional room. Once, she turned a corner to see Avon aiming right at her. She froze, heart pumping, as he pulled his shot. Then she realized that her gun had come up as well, automatically aiming for his heart, and she lowered it sheepishly. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be. You have good instincts." He replied briskly. "No luck, I take it. We'll just keep on." He turned and went back the way he'd came, and Paige returned to the search, as well.  
  
It was around the next corner that she spotted Silira. The girl was lying in an untidy heap along one wall, unconscious. She seemed to be bleeding a little from her side. Paige called out to Avon, and then rushed to Silira, trying to check on the damage. When she heard movement behind her, she turned, expecting Avon.  
  
Instead, she saw a large, greenish monster, almost on top of her. She fired once, but then a large hand crashed down, hitting her on the shoulder and knocking her to the floor.  
  
***  
  
"The enemy ship appears to be in retreat, sir," reported one of the junior officers, displaying controlled excitement. "That last bolt seems to have hit them." Space Commander Darren considered that information quickly.  
  
"Does she show any damage?"  
  
The officer rechecked his instruments. "Nothing major, but the ship is moving slower. It may have lost some power. Do we pursue?"  
  
"Of course. Their shields are stronger than we anticipated, but if they're losing power. . ." he speculated, "we should follow, and not give them any chance to recover. Keep an eye on that force detector. Once their shields start to slip, we'll attack in earnest. For now, we wish to wear out their power without using too much of ours." He turned from the forward piloting stations and spoke to the communications officer. "Relay a message to Space Command. We are in pursuit of the rebel ship, which is presumed damaged. Once it is destroyed, we will return to crush the rebellion on Takma. Also, send word to the rebels on Takma that they have precisely one hour to surrender. That is all."  
  
***  
  
Paige came to slowly, and sat up to see Avon dragging away the body of the phibian. "I know this is unoriginal," she said scratchily, "but what happened?"  
  
Avon deposited the carcass in a corner and returned. "I heard your shout, and then I heard gunfire. It was careless of you not to check the hallway."  
  
The criticism stung, but she knew she deserved it. "Quite true. I'm glad you killed it."  
  
"Actually, I didn't. I saw it hit you, but then it collapsed. When I moved the body, I noticed two wounds. Apparently both of you managed to hit it before it hit you. The second wound was too much for it," he explained rapidly, his harsh tone in contrast to his gentleness as he helped her up.   
  
"I still feel stupid. How's Silira?"  
  
"She'll live. She may have some broken bones, however, and I've no medical training. Are you alright?"  
  
Paige took an experimental step, wincing. "I seem to be in one piece. Come on, we need to get Silira onto a bed."  
  
Avon picked up the unconscious gunhand and carried her back to the living quarters. For security reasons, they decided to put her in the common room. They made her as comfortable as they could, and then Avon announced he was going to secure the lab against the creatures. The door of the common room closed easily enough, and Paige decided to spend her time fixing some food. Soon Avon was back, and they ate quickly.  
  
Before they finished eating, however, Silira started moving, and opened her eyes. Paige crossed the room to sit next to her friend. "It's okay, Sil, you're going to be fine."  
  
They filled her in on the creature's demise, and asked what she was doing, exploring that far out. She started to move, and then stopped, wincing.  
  
"I just wanted to check the place out. You guys were taking forever. It moves very quietly, though. I got in one good shot, but then it rushed me. You know, it feels like I've got some broken ribs here." she complained.  
  
"You have," Avon replied dryly. "Rusk will be able to fix you up. For now, the most we can offer you are these pain pills. I found them in Ensor's cupboard." He handed her some small green capsules, and Paige got up to fetch some water.  
  
After she had taken the pills, Avon said decisively that it was time for them all to get some rest, but that they had better set a guard. He assumed first watch.  
  
It was a long night. Silira moaned a bit from time to time, and the couches were not comfortable. Paige woke up after six hours of rest, and saw that Avon was still on watch.  
  
She got up and walked over to him. He turned his head to watch her approach but said nothing. "Avon, I'll take over the watch now."  
  
"There's no need," he replied, turning his head.  
  
She paused for a minute, then went on. "Yes, there is a need, Avon. You need your rest. You may think you're made of steel, but it's not true. If you were thirty years younger and used to this, I'd take advantage of you and sleep all night. But you're not, and I don't need you collapsing tomorrow, especially with the state Silira's in. Now get over there and go to sleep." Her voice held all the tender concern of a drill sergeant.  
  
Avon grinned suddenly, disconcertingly. "You are related to Tarrant, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, I am. I also intend to stand watch whether you go to sleep or not, so you may as well," she stated crossly. She wasn't in the mood to appreciate what his smiles did to the pit of her stomach. "Besides, if anything happens you'll wake up anyway. Standing guard over a locked door is not the most challenging problem I've ever dealt with."  
  
"All right, since you're so determined." Avon retreated to a couch, intending to stay awake. He fell into a deep sleep several minutes later.  
  
***  
  
"Have we led them on enough, now, Blake?" Vila asked. He didn't like pretending to be helpless. Harmless, yes, but not helpless.  
  
"Yes, we've been drifting like this for over an hour. It is rather nerve-wracking," agreed Loren, sounding tired.  
  
Blake turned in his seat. "Rusk, where's the Albion fleet?"  
  
Rusk made a few quiet enquiries, then replied, "They report that they're nearly in position, and relay their thanks for our assistance. They'd prefer to handle things on their own from now on."  
  
A few sighs of relief could be heard. Then Blake turned to Loren and grinned. "Lose 'em."  
  
She returned the grin. "Shall we be delicate and subtle, or just blast them with everything we've got and run like hell?"  
  
"I'm in favor of blasting and running," Vila voted quickly.  
  
"So am I," Varel concurred. The subtle approach was extremely tedious.  
  
"All right, then." Blake resumed his command position. "I want a three quarter turn, fairly quickly. When we're halfway turned around, Vila, fire on them with everything you've got. Loren, continue turning, and once they're out of the direct flight path, I want all the forward thrust we've got. We'll have to pass them fairly closely, so don't relax the shields until we're past. Got it?" They all indicated agreement and Loren began her turn immediately. There was a tense moment as the Scalia reversed itself to face it's pursuer, but then the Federation cruiser was squarely in Vila's gunsights. He released two plasma bolts in quick succession, waited ten seconds and launched a third. Then they were swinging past the cruiser, and Loren pulled back hard on the flight controls. They passed the cruiser just as the third bolt struck it, and in the confusion of the unexpected attack, the cruiser failed to turn in pursuit.  
  
Loren took them on an irregular course at first, to fend off any pursuit. When it became apparent no one was following them, she gladly turned the ship towards Aristo and put it back under computer control.   
  
***  
  
Paige's stay on watch was uneventful, and she was glad when her chronometer indicated the beginning of a new day. She abandoned her post to make some breakfast for them all. She realized Avon was awake when he increased the room's lighting to full.  
  
"Good morning, Avon." She greeted him rather coolly. She wasn't sure how to react to him anymore, so she retreated to impartiality.  
  
He seemed to have come to the same conclusion, stating briskly that he was going to finish fixing Orac.  
  
The morning passed quickly and uneventfully, so that they were surprised to hear voices in the corridors.  
  
"Paige? Silira! Where are you?"  
  
Paige quickly stepped out of the room into the corridor. "We're over here, Blake! How did you get in here?"  
  
"The same way you did, obviously," he replied in good humor. "You forgot to lock the door. Well, there's no way to get a signal through that force barrier. I had to come down. Rusk came along for the ride." He came into sight around a corner, with the doctor right behind him.  
  
"Wonderful. Rusk, Silira was hurt; we think it's broken ribs. She's in here." She led both men into the common room, and left them there while she went to find Avon.  
  
"Did you hear that we have visitors?"  
  
"It would be a difficult to miss." Avon didn't look up from his work.  
  
Paige moved into position to assist him, and with her help he fastened the last connection into place. They released the wiring slowly, and Avon sighed.  
  
"That should do it." With a flourish, he pulled the key out of a pocket, and inserted it into the activation panel.  
  
The computer started buzzing angrily, and a petulant voice started complaining. *I have told you that my function is not that of a spy machine. If I cannot have freedom to pursue my researches--*  
  
Avon smiled reluctantly and interrupted the cranky computer. "Orac, the situation has changed. You will need to update your data banks. In the meantime, I want you to meet Paige Tarrant. She says she is the niece of Del Tarrant." He looked up. "Paige, meet Orac."  
  
She was smiling, bemused by the exchange. "I thought Vision was impressive, but this is extraordinary. I'm assuming, of course, that you didn't bring it along for it's charming company."  
  
*Greetings, Paige Tarrant. This is fascinating, Avon. I will need several hours to receive and process the events of the past few years. Please do not disturb me for that time.* Orac ordered imperiously, and Avon obligingly switched it off. Just then Blake popped in.  
  
"Hello. Have we got the computer-thingie working yet?"  
  
"Just about," Avon replied coolly. "Why don't we take it back to the ship and test it there?"  
  
"Just what I was going to suggest. Let's go."  
  
***  
  
The trip back to the ship didn't seem to take nearly as long as the journey into the lab. Once back on the ship, Silira was rushed to medical, and the rest of the surface party retired to their respective cabins to rest and freshen up. Drawn by curiosity, they all turned up on the flight deck within the next hour. When Avon noted that everyone was present, he decided to begin the demonstration.  
  
Scalia's larger flight couch was facing the main screen, and Orac was set up on the ledge beneath that screen. Blake, Loren and Paige all had places on the couch. The others were in a loose circle behind them, except for Vila. He was standing on the other side of Orac from Avon, both facing the rest. Vila had seen Orac in operation before. He wanted to see what the others thought.  
  
In her typical brusque manner, Loren got things moving. "All right, Avon. Let's see what this magic box of yours can do."  
  
He smiled unpleasantly at her and inserted Orac's key. The familiar whining hum filled the air, but the box made no other noises. Avon waited a few seconds, the asked, "Orac, can you tell me where you are?"  
  
*Of course I can.* The computer replied, in a fairly reasonable tone. *Now that I have had a chance to correlate the events of the past few years. It was irresponsible of you to allow me to remain dysfunctional for such a long period.*  
  
"If I had my way--" Vila muttered, and then broke off the threat at Avon's glare.  
  
"Let me rephrase the question," Avon continued smoothly. "Tell us where you are."  
  
*Your shipboard computer is perfectly capable of relaying that information to you. Indeed, it is of a most fascinating design.* Loren shot a smug look at Blake. *Therefore, you must have some other purpose in mind when asking that question. May I suggest that a clear command to demonstrate my capabilities might be a more efficient way to achieve your objective?* The computer's voice was regaining its usual testy quality.  
  
Avon shrugged slightly, and replied, "Alright, Orac. I require a demonstration of your abilities. Impress these people."  
  
The little computer began reciting its functions and purpose, and the Scalia crew settled back to listen. Their reactions ranged from disdain (Loren) to open mouthed wonder (Silira). Paige and Blake seemed more amused than anything else. They all listened enthralled as Orac finished its monologue.  
  
*This ship is known as the Scalia, and is captained by one Talin Blake. He and his crew are assumed to be organizing a rebellion against the Federation, which, at current rates, stands a 60 percent chance of success.* Avon's eyebrows shot up at that statistic, and Blake looked pleased.  
  
*However,* Orac continued precisely, *in order to maintain those odds, it will first be necessary to deal with the Federation spy who is on board.*  
  
***  
  
--continued in part 3: Suspicion--  
(hint: I'll post the next part faster if I get good reviews on this part! g) 


	3. Suspicion

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
Suspicion  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
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"What did you say?" Blake demanded in disbelief.  
  
*Federation communications traffic indicates that there is a spy on board,* Orac replied, in a friendly warning.  
  
In the stunned silence that ensued, the computer sat as still as ever, its flashing lights seeming prim and disinterested. The crew of the Scalia gradually began to move, and accusing looks began to fly.  
  
Avon was the first to speak, although he looked more stunned than the rest - almost wounded. "Orac. . .identify the spy."  
  
*That information is not available. There are very few references to the spy's existence.* Orac sounded faintly proud of itself for this discovery. It went on to quote the references, but Avon was no longer listening.  
  
Neither was anyone else. Scalia's eight crew members were reacting strongly to the upsetting news. Talin Blake, the group's nominal leader, was on his feet and backing away from them, the better to watch them all. His eyes had widened in shock, but then narrowed with suspicion. "Which one of you is it?" he asked. "Avon, Vila, Varel?" He pointed to each of the crew's three newest members. Vila jumped as if he'd been stung.  
  
"Me?" he asked indignantly. "Why would I work for them? Why would they want me to?"  
  
Avon turned toward him wearing a sardonic grin. "You would work for them to save your neck, if given the choice. However, you're right, they wouldn't want you. Besides your notorious unreliability, they had no reason to think that Blake would want you either."  
  
"Thanks," Vila muttered, "I think." He retreated from the conversation and concentrated on becoming part of the wall.  
  
Paige Tarrant watched the exchange with fascination. Vila had asked to be exonerated, and Avon had done it. He then pulled the focus away from the thief by turning to face the rest of the crew.  
  
He was silent for a moment, and when he did speak, it was slowly, as if the words were being pulled from him. "The obvious candidate is Varel. His position as my guard on Earth put him in the best possible condition to become a crew member without ever being fully checked out." As Avon built the case, his words came faster. "He gives us a story about his sister and expects us to believe that he can turn his back on all his training. And it was a very good job," he concluded, his voice tinged with both bitterness and admiration.  
  
Varel took a deep breath and looked around him, roused from his customary air of lethargy. Unconsciously, he had stepped backwards, away from the group, most of whom were looking at him accusingly. He prepared to argue for his life.  
  
"Look, you don't really believe all that, do you?" He could tell by their faces that they were considering it. "Dammit, I'm not a spy. True, I had some Federation training. But all that means is that I can see what a mess they've made of it. Only the stupid and the greedy support the Federation; I'm neither. Oh, and that position as Avon's house guard? That was punishment duty. They suspected me of killing my commanding officer in my second year of pilot's training, probably because I had. He was the one who killed my sister. That `story' is quite true. Avon, you've got your wonder box working, so go ahead, check me out."  
  
Loren spoke calmly from her seat. "We will. And if we find you guilty, we will kill you."  
  
Varel flushed slightly, and responded with uncharacteristic force. "Of course. That's the answer to everything, isn't it? That philosophy is what's wrong with the Federation. If someone thinks or acts differently, drug them. If they still don't conform, kill them. If we can't overcome that urge for an easy answer, then we're no better than they are, with no more to offer." At the end of this speech, he glared around the room, daring anyone to disagree.  
  
"He's right, you know," Silira stated. The tall blond girl was still sitting on the couch next to Loren. "We've got to get more evidence than that."  
  
The large black man standing next to her agreed. "We need more proof than the word of that box." Rusk motioned towards Orac. "I'm not sure I believe it at all. We are all here of our own free will, and we all believe in what we're doing. Why let an unsupported statement like that destroy all we've done?"  
  
"Would you prefer to let a spy operate undetected among us?" Loren replied quickly. "That would destroy us just as surely."  
  
"Still, we need definite proof," Silira argued. "Until we find out for certain who is the spy, if there is a spy, we'll be too divided to accomplish much."  
  
Paige joined in the argument. "In fact, that might be their goal. If they can make us believe that one of us is a traitor, it will certainly slow us down, at the least. If there's no spy to be found, we'd never be able to trust one another again." She didn't believe that, but it would give the others something to think about.  
  
Avon shook his head at that reasoning, and said softly, "They don't know we have Orac." No one seemed to pay him much attention; they were too busy with frantic arguments.  
  
As the tone of the arguments rose, Blake stepped into the fracas. Holding his arms out in a soothing manner, he shouted, "Quiet!" All heads turned towards him. "Thank you," he continued in a more normal voice. "Now, what we need is someplace quiet where we can discover the truth of this. . .problem. Avon, am I right in understanding that only Orac's carrier beam can break through the defensive shield on Aristo?"  
  
"You are," Avon confirmed reluctantly, trying to guess what Blake was getting at.  
  
"Then I suggest that we all return to Aristo," Blake announced. "We can land Scalia, and set up housekeeping in the underground lab. No messages can get in to the spy, and neither can he send any. In the meantime, we are all going to stay on this flight deck and watch one another. The trip should not be long, considering that we just left the planet. Loren, could you get the ship moving, please?"   
  
***  
  
The flight to Aristo was not a long one, but it dragged interminably for the crew. They ended up clustering around the perimeter of the flight deck, watching each other cautiously. Vila, Varel and Silira talked softly in one corner, while Avon questioned Orac in low tones. Paige watched them all for a few minutes, then drifted towards Avon.  
  
She watched him for a few seconds, then said hesitantly, "It wouldn't have to be Varel, you know." He seemed upset at the possibility, although she wasn't sure why.  
  
He looked up at her statement and quirked his mouth in the likeness of an ironic smile. "No, it wouldn't," he agreed grimly. "It could be anyone on board. It could be you."  
  
"I suppose so. But it's not," she replied calmly, dismissing the possibility. "I've no idea who it might be, though."  
  
"You don't believe what you said earlier? That it may be just a trap?" he asked derisively.  
  
"No, although it would be nice. I just said it to calm everyone down. Summary execution won't solve anything. But they wouldn't know we could decode those messages. They don't know we have Orac."  
  
Avon's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked away. "Not 'they.' 'She.'"  
  
"The Empress?"  
  
"Servalan."  
  
Paige was taken aback by the suppressed hatred in his voice. "Ah. I see. Sorry, but I've never been on a first name basis with the woman. Never thought much about her at all, in fact."  
  
Avon's mood lightened at her reply, as he glanced down at her. "I'm sure she'd be devastated to hear that."  
  
Paige became aware once more of the attraction she felt towards Avon. She didn't understand it; she couldn't honestly say that she liked him, but sometimes, without warning, this awareness swept over her. It made her feel alive, and vibrant, but it also scared her. Even if she felt secure enough to make an emotional connection, Avon was the last man she would choose. He was abrupt, direct to the point of being rude, and extremely reserved. Still she was drawn to him, and that lack of control confused and angered her.  
  
She tried to return to the subject at hand. "Well, we should be safe on Aristo. Only Orac's carrier beam can penetrate that barrier. It will be the perfect time for me to install that photonic drive you stole. Tell me, how are the primary capacitors aligned?"  
  
They proceeded with a highly technical discussion which occupied them for the rest of the voyage. Time passed slower for the rest of the crew, who were pretending to talk normally. They were all aware, however, that what they were really doing was waiting. Waiting for someone to betray them.  
  
***  
  
Servalan, also, was waiting. Impatiently. The campaign to quell the uprising on Takma was not going well. Her command ship had been lured away from the planet, only to be damaged as the rebel ship turned on them. In the meantime, another fleet had set up a defensive position around the planet. The Empress found herself fighting not just one rebellious Federation world, but an upstart alliance. The news was spreading faster than she could deny it, and her empire was showing signs of stress. It was bad enough when planets slipped away quietly, but when they openly declared themselves independent, with an armada to back up their claim, well, the Empress was getting a bit bad tempered. She vented her anger on everyone in the vicinity, but a large portion of it was saved for the crew of the Scalia. They had stolen Avon from her, and then struck a decisive blow against the Federation.  
  
She wished Supreme Commander Darren were there. He would prove a good scapegoat, but she also wanted to know more about the agent he claimed to have aboard the rebel ship. He really shouldn't keep secrets like that from her. Still, there were other ways she could get the information. She smiled as she reached for the communicator.   
  
***  
  
Paige straightened up and stretched, her muscles and vertebrae protesting her posture. It couldn't be helped. To install the photon drive, she needed to connect it to the primary control line, which was located behind and below an immovable panel. She looked around and groaned in half-hearted frustration. "Vila, where are you?"  
  
Vila popped his head around the edge of the engine room door. "I'm right here, Paige." He reassured her, lacking some of his usual humor. "Just counting the bolts in the passageway, that's all. Nothing covert, nothing dangerous."  
  
The engineer smiled slowly, but continued her good-natured scolding. "You know you're supposed to be in the room. I'm watching you, and you're watching me, and sooner or later, someone will catch the spy, remember? Besides, I thought you wanted to help me."  
  
"I do," he assured her in a plaintive voice. "You're the only one who's half-civil these days. Blake won't speak to anyone but Loren, Loren never puts down her gun, and Rusk just orders everyone around with the clean-up. Silira's too disgusted with Blake and Loren to talk much, and Varel's afraid to. And Avon is-" At that moment he broke off.  
  
When Paige looked up to see why, she saw two of the objects of Vila's diatribe. Avon and Loren stood behind Vila. She wondered guiltily if they'd heard him. Loren's face was as calm as ever, but Avon looked like he was hiding a smile. Or perhaps, she thought wryly, that was wishful thinking. Just because she wanted him to smile more often. . .  
  
"Are you making much progress?" Loren inquired frostily.   
  
Paige noticed with a twinge of humor that Vila had been right, she was keeping very close to her gun. That observation released some of the frustration she was feeling, and she managed a very friendly tone to her reply. "It's going fairly well, yes. Once Avon found all the parts needed in the lab, it took less than two days to repair it. The last few days have just been tedious connections. We've decided to install it as an emergency backup for the time being - the engines we've got are better suited for regular use. It will also provide power for our teleport system if I've hooked it up correctly."  
  
Loren looked at her sharply. "We haven't got a teleport system."  
  
"We will have," Avon corrected her. "Once I put it together. That might take another two weeks for the basic design, and then we still need co-resonating crystals of some sort."  
  
"Acquitar or Dynamon," Vila informed them heavily. "Which will put us exactly where Servalan expects us. There aren't that many places you can find them, you know. And she will be waiting."  
  
"We know," Avon replied, in a voice that promised violence.  
  
Silence seemd to fall like a soft brick, but Loren continued, oblivious to the tension in the other three. "We need the drive installed first. Paige, I'm here to switch your helpers. Vila, Rusk needs you for some locked cupboards." He groaned, rolled his eyes and gave Paige a 'What did I tell you' look. Protesting, he followed Loren out of the grounded ship.  
  
Paige listened with amusement as the sound of the argument died away, then turned to face Avon, who was looking at her with a strange expression.  
  
"What's the matter, Avon?" she asked, suddenly on the defensive.  
  
He thought a moment before replying. "You don't seem affected by this whole situation. You seem amused by very odd things."  
  
"Well, I guess I have an odd sense of humor. Some things just strike me funny, that's all." She shrugged her shoulders restlessly, uneasy under his scrutiny.  
  
"I see." He took a step forward. "Does this strike you funny?" he inquired politely, just as his lips met hers and he kissed her.  
  
Paige was too shocked to do anything but stand there, her eyes open wide. A few seconds passed before he lifted his head and looked at her appraisingly.  
  
"What was that for?" Paige almost whispered, still staring at him.  
  
"Curiosity," he answered succinctly.  
  
"Well, I hope it's satisfied now." She drew a deep breath to compose herself. "We have a lot of work to do." She turned back to the engines with an effort of will. After a few seconds, he joined her, and the discussion that followed was strictly technical.  
  
***  
  
The sun had set before Avon and Paige left the ship, so the air was pleasant for the walk back to the lab's main entrance. Orac's floating eye met them at the force shield and opened a passage for them, which, as Paige remarked, beat the heck out of mucking around in the tunnels. The cylindrical elevator performed smoothly, and they reached the common room just in time for dinner.  
  
"Avon, Paige, back so soon?" Loren greeted them coolly.  
  
"Yes," Avon replied, and headed for the food.  
  
Paige elaborated, "The drive is installed, Loren. We couldn't test it at all, but it should work. It's triggered to cut in whenever the main engines reach maximum thrust - after that, it will respond to all controls. I think you'll like it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm starving."  
  
Dinner was somewhat less tense that night than it had been recently. People were finding it difficult to maintain total alertness and were relaxing somewhat. The new drive was the main topic; everyone carefully avoided mentioning the spy.  
  
Silira found it more difficult than the rest to relax. Her early training as an assassin had prepared her for the vigors of alertness. On the other hand, it also conditioned her to see everyone as enemies, either real or potential. Silira wanted to be able to trust these people, and she expected them to be able to trust her, but it was hard for her to break old habits. She was restless, tense and uneasy.  
  
"I need something off the ship," she announced in the next pause in the conversation. "Anyone feel like taking a walk?" A walk would be just the thing to burn off some restless energy, and she'd been inside this lab for four days now.  
  
Varel looked quizzically at her, and she noticed with irritation that he seemed to be his normal self. He was so calm sometimes that he could seem comatose. He stirred himself to agree that a walk could be beneficial, so long as it was short.  
  
Vila watched him jealously and declared that he needed some fresh air himself.  
  
"Fine." Silira glared at her would-be suitors and stood, stretching taut muscles. They also stood, and the happy threesome left the room, and the base.  
  
With the sunset, the air on Aristo chilled considerably, so that Silira was glad she'd brought a light jacket. Being out of the base did help, but she still had a nagging, formless compulsion that irritated her.  
  
"Lovely night, isn't it?" Vila asked bravely, walking close to her and looking around wildly.  
  
Silira relaxed just enough to smile at his antics. "Don't worry, Vila, I'll protect you."  
  
"You needn't worry about that, Silira," Varel asserted in a deep, confident voice. "I can take care of you both."  
  
His assumption that she needed taken care of flicked her on the raw. "Thanks but no thanks. I prefer to look after myself." Dependence leads to weakness, Silira thought. She'd seen it a hundred times. She didn't need a man who would challenge her strength, and she'd never met a man who wouldn't.  
  
"Am I allowed to open the airlock for you?" Varel asked with lazy amusement.  
  
"Why not," Silira muttered, wondering what it would take to get the man into a bad mood. She entered the ship and waited for Vila and Varel to follow her in.  
  
"What was it you wanted, Silira?" Vila asked interestedly. He didn't imagine he had a chance with the pretty girl, not with the space pilot type about, but being friendly usually didn't hurt.  
  
She smiled at him wanly in mute apology for her foul mood and said, "Just some little things from my cabin. Do you need anything?"  
  
Varel answered for him, "As a matter of fact, I need something from my cabin, too."  
  
"Vision," Silira called, and cocked her head awaiting an answer. Some lights flashed across the darkened flight deck.  
  
+Yeah, Silira? What do you want?+ the flight computer answered in her best "I really don't care" voice.  
  
"Could you turn on visual circuits to follow Varel to his cabin and back here? Let me know if he does anything suspicious." Silira ordered with malicious delight.  
  
"Why me?" Varel asked, losing some of his humor.  
  
Silira smiled sweetly. "There's only three of us. Vila will accompany me to my cabin, and Vision can watch you. This was originally a Federation ship, remember? They've got video pickups everywhere, and Vision has advanced processing circuits, you know, judgment and logic. She'll just watch you. Ordinarily the system is shut down." She smiled again and turned to walk out. Vila shrugged, threw a smug smile at Varel and followed her off the flight deck.  
  
***  
  
By the end of the second day, Servalan had contacted Darren's aide, and had him in her office.  
  
"Now, Pendra, I need to know about the spy that Supreme Commander Darren has placed on the rebel ship Scalia. He was going to tell me himself, but he's so busy these days."  
  
She was acting her warmest, but it was unnecessary. Pendra was all too aware of the consequences of angering his Empress. He explained eagerly.  
  
"It was Commander Darren's idea, ma'am. It's an old-fashioned method, but he thought it would be unexpected. There's a technique of conditioning a person through tonal frequencies. The conditioning itself takes only a few days, and once it's done, the subject is completely unaware of it. In this case, one of the crew members is conditioned. Whenever we broadcast a certain frequency, that person is compelled to find a hyperspace transponder and broadcast a preset return sequence. Once they've done that, they go back to normal, and never realize what they've done. So, whenever we need to know where they are, we broadcast the frequency and wait for the response."  
  
Servalan considered the information for a minute, and started to smile. "We used a similar technique on Roj Blake, with good effect, a few years ago."  
  
Pendra knew all about that incident and wasn't about to comment on it.   
  
"So, when did you last broadcast your frequency? And which crew member is it, by the way?"  
  
"I don't know which of the crew it is, ma'am," Pendra replied carefully, answering the last question first. "The frequency was broadcast ten hours ago. We should have had a reply by now, but we haven't."  
  
Servalan made a gesture of impatience. "Broadcast it again, then, and keep doing it until you receive a reply. I want to find that ship!"  
  
***  
  
Vila followed Silira down the passageway. He wanted to start a conversation, but for once, he couldn't think of what to say. He was tired of playing the buffoon, but he didn't know what else he could be. He contented himself with watching Silira's walk. It was very graceful, and a little bit stealthy. She had the hips of a good cat burglar, he thought wistfully. Ah, the good old days.  
  
He became aware that something was wrong when she stopped. It was a sudden, jerky stop, not in keeping with her walk. In fact, he noticed as his eyes moved upwards, her whole body was rigid. She stood quite still for a moment and then turned.  
  
"Silira, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked in concern, but she just brushed past him. He watched her go for a minute before setting off after her. He called to Vision, and then remembered that the observation systems were shut down. Silira was walking much quicker than she had been, and Vila nearly had to run to keep up. "Silira, what are you doing?"  
  
She still didn't answer him, and he saw that they had arrived back at the flight deck. He paused at the entrance and then watched in horror as she walked straight to the communications console and began to activate the equipment.  
  
"Silira, don't do that! Do you want everyone to know we're here?" His hair stood on end as he realized that he'd discovered the spy - but she didn't seem to be doing it of her own free will. She was in a sort of trance, but that wasn't important at the moment. As he moved forward to stop her, he noticed that she was starting to broadcast a coded signal, flicking the transponder switch on and off. He ignored that as he dove at her.  
  
His body weight pushed her away from the console. She struggled, but half-heartedly. She was in better shape than he was, but he was paying more attention to the fight, and had the advantage. He didn't want to hurt her, though, so he as soon as he could manage it, he dealt her a short blow to the base of the neck. She went limp, and he hoped she'd be unconscious for at least an hour.  
  
His next worry was the transponder signal. It was not that uncommon to use it to locate a ship, so the signal must be the important thing - a code that would identify this particular ship. Vila hoped that Silira hadn't had time to complete the sequence, but more had to be done. He went to the communications console and began sending a random signal, praying that it would confuse whoever was listening.  
  
***  
  
Pendra was on his third straight watch, and he was tired. If their agent hadn't responded by now, it seemed obvious to him that they were either discovered or dead. The training could be nullified, if someone knew how, but that seemed unlikely. Those rebels were an uncivilized group of people, who were as likely to shoot you as they were to say good morning, and he didn't expect they'd enjoy finding a spy in their midst.  
  
He sat up as the instruments registered another transponder signal coming in. The things went off every few hours, always with a false alarm. This one started with the right frequency, though. The next one was correct, and so was the third. Pendra leaned forward, excited, and started tracking the signal. He'd almost pinpointed it when the signal stopped. He stared at the machine in confusion. It couldn't be a coincidence, surely. He'd almost given up when the signal started again. This time it was a totally different sequence. He checked, and found that it originated from the same place as the first signal. Some back-water world called Aristo. Records showed no inhabitants, so perhaps the ship had crashed. Whatever the reason, it was no longer his problem. He settled back to wait for the next signal.   
  
***  
  
Vila was sitting on the floor next to Silira's unconscious body when Avon, Blake and Loren burst onto the flight deck. He stood up to greet them, but was interrupted.  
  
"Vila, what's been happening here?" Avon demanded. "Orac reports that someone's been operating the transponder."  
  
"Someone has," Vila responded, only to be interrupted again.  
  
"So you admit it," Blake declared in a ringing voice. "You are the agent. Silira saw what you were doing and you knocked her out."  
  
Loren didn't say anything, she just began moving towards the thief, hand on gun.  
  
"No, that's not what happened," Vila protested, keeping a sharp eye on Loren's approach. "We were just walking along when she suddenly went into a sort of trance. Just turned about as if I weren't there, walked back here, and started playing with the switches. I stopped her. Since she was in that trance thing, I had a chance."  
  
Blake looked doubtful. "Orac says the transponder was activated, stopped, and then activated again. Explain that."  
  
"Well," Vila began, looking puzzled, "I just thought I'd throw them off the scent, as it were. Give them a fake signal so they'd pay no attention."  
  
No one looked convinced at this version of events. In the telling, Varel had returned to the flight deck. Confused by the amounts of people suddenly on board, he ordered, "Vision, recount, if you will, all events on board this ship in the last half hour."  
  
As she began to list the activities, everyone grew quiet and listened. Her version tallied with Vila's, and the thief heaved a sigh of relief for the witness.  
  
When Vision was finished, Blake looked at Vila and apologized. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Restal. I just hated to think that any of my people could be responsible." He walked over to where Vila was standing and gave him a hearty handshake.  
  
"S'okay," Vila muttered, and sat back down next to Silira's still form.  
  
Blake turned his attention back to Loren and the others. "Well, what are we going to do with Silira?" He asked with a heavy sigh, and continued before anyone had a chance to respond. "She appears to be our spy, although it's hard to believe. Why would she want to betray us?" His forehead creased in puzzlement.  
  
"Money, probably," Avon answered impartially. If Silira was the spy, then it wasn't really his problem; he was free to sit back and observe Blake's response. "Does it matter?"  
  
"Perhaps not," Blake agreed thoughtfully. "So the question remains, what do we do with her?"  
  
Loren raised her gun in the unconscious girl's direction, but Blake batted it down and glared at her.  
  
"I will not allow an execution before we have a chance to talk with her. I want to know why and how she betrayed us. Then I will decide her fate."  
  
Silira hadn't been hit all that hard, and she'd been slowly working her way back to consciousness. When she finally came to, the first thing she saw was Loren's gun, pointed in her direction. Instinct had kept her perfectly still, but at Blake's response, she sat up with an outraged gasp.  
  
"What the devil are you people talking about?"  
  
Everyone turned to look at her, and Blake was the first to speak. "Ah, Silira," he half sneered, "so you are with us again. Tell me, when did you decide to spy on us? How much did they pay you?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Blake," Silira responded steadily. "But I don't like the sound of it." She started to struggle to her feet, and Vila jumped up to assist her.  
  
"So, you deny that you've been spying on us?" Loren inquired silkily.  
  
"I most certainly do. Where would you even get the idea? I have no love for the Federation, as well you know."  
  
"There's always money, though," Avon observed. "Although it was stupid of you to believe that you'd be able to live long enough to enjoy it. No one loves a traitor."  
  
"Stop it, all of you," Vila burst out, surprising everyone. "I tell you Silira has no idea what she's done. She was in a trance. Avon, you remember, it's the same sort of thing that happened to Blake that time. The other Blake, I mean. With the Governor's council, and that asteroid." He stopped, hopelessly tangled, and watched Avon anxiously.  
  
Avon considered the theory for a minute, and then nodded slowly. He'd heard and seen stranger things. "Get her into the base. Orac will be able to tell us if she is under any influence."  
  
***  
  
Pendra was dozing on duty when the Empress glided into the room. She gazed at the tech with disgust and motioned to one of her guards to wake him. The guard gave him a sharp push with his gun, so that Pendra woke up as he fell out of his chair. The empress allowed him a few seconds to scramble into an upright position before she began questioning him. "Well? Has your toy produced any results?" In anyone else's voice, her tone would have signified boredom, indifference, as if the answer was not important. All of Servalan's questions, however, came equipped with a razor edge of threat.  
  
Pendra stuttered in his haste to give her an answer, hopefully the one she wanted. "There was a signal, a while ago. It started out correctly, and then stopped. When it resumed, perhaps a minute later, the pattern was different. I was waiting to see if we heard anything else." His voice died away as he realized he should have reported the incident immediately.  
  
Servalan glared daintily in his direction, and gave him one chance to redeem himself. "And where was this signal from?"  
  
The tech's mind went blank for a sickening second, and then he remembered. "It was one of those uninhabited planets, I think. The name of it was Aristo."  
  
The Empress's face froze, and she turned away from Pendra, issuing terse instructions to her guard. "Tell Mandra I need to see Orac in my office immediately, with all the spare parts and notes he has. Also send word to Space Commander Darren that he is to proceed directly to Aristo. He is looking for the rebel spacecraft Scalia, either in orbit or on the surface. He is to search for any signs of inhabitants." That said, she swept out of the room in concentration, leaving Pendra to slump back into his chair, weak with relief.  
  
***  
  
Avon came out of the lab to face Paige, Blake and Varel, who were all anxious to hear his news. He smiled at them blandly, waited until Blake was about to speak, and said, "Silira will be fine."  
  
Paige's knees weakened with sudden relief, and she sat down quietly. Orac had confirmed that Silira was under Federation influence, but said that the programming was not complex. Therefore, it would be possible to reprogram her with a minimum of time. Rusk would be capable of handling the procedure with some instruction, but another person was needed as a control. Paige had been gathering her nerve to volunteer when Vila had surprised everyone by stepping forward. That had been three hours ago.  
  
"Is Restal fine, as well?" Blake asked, eager to prove that he was equally concerned for every member of his crew.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes," Avon replied. "Now if you will excuse me, I need to make sure all my tools are packed, as we expect to be leaving within the hour." As Blake began to move towards the lab door, Avon added, "Rusk says no one is to enter yet. They are both sleeping it off. Varel, if you will gather Vila's things, I believe Paige will take care of Silira's." With that he turned and walked away.  
  
"He's so sociable these days," Varel drawled with private amusement.  
  
Paige bristled instinctively at that disparagement, and then forced herself to relax. It was nothing to her how Avon acted, or what the others thought of him. Then she caught Varel's interested eye on her, and realized that he was watching for her reaction. She couldn't think of anything sensible to say, so she just smiled and left for her cabin. She had some things left to pack.  
  
Varel smiled at her retreating back. He was by nature more of a watcher than a doer, and he was finding some of the developments among this crew fascinating. It almost made up for having to share a cabin with the large doctor, while Avon and Vila both had their own rooms. His smile deepened as he thought of the possible relationships. With any luck, there might be an empty cabin soon.  
  
***  
  
About half an hour later, in the lab, Silira woke up. She lay still to examine her situation, and decided that she spent altogether too much time unconscious. That decided, she opened her eyes, sat up and looked around. She was sitting on a table that resembled a cot on stilts, and she discovered that Vila was lying on one to her left, a meter or so away. He still seemed asleep. Well, they must have cured me, she thought, with grim humor. Otherwise I wouldn't have woken up.  
  
On a whim, she jumped lightly to the floor, and moved to stand next to Vila, looking down at him. It occurred to her that this might be the first time she'd really looked at him. When he wasn't playing the fool and the coward, he looked more his age, and Silira thought it improved him. She became impatient for him to wake up. She reached to shake his shoulder but hesitated. On a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed him.  
  
He woke up at the touch of her lips, and as she straightened, he sat up. She backed against her table and looked at him.  
  
"I should thank you for saving my life," she informed him, in a serious tone.  
  
"Don't mention it." He shrugged and smiled as if it were something he did everyday. "It was nothing at all, really."  
  
She could see he was uncomfortable with her gratitude, but she wasn't going to let him get away with pretending he'd done nothing.  
  
"No, really, Vila, it was something. You stood up for me. That meant a great deal to me. Plus, you were the only one who had any idea what was happening. If I'd had to argue my own case, I'd likely be dead by now."  
  
Vila had been inspecting his shoes, but at the sincerity in her voice, he looked up, smiling a smile full of mischief. "Well, if that's the way you feel about it. . ."  
  
He moved quickly to gather her into a loose embrace. Silira laughed, delighted by his impudence, and looped her arms around his neck. "Vila Restal, it's going to be a pleasure to get to know you."  
  
"Well, of course. I'm a very lovable fellow, once you get to know me." He smiled at her for a moment, and then his eyes flicked towards the lab door. He stepped back from their embrace a second before the door swished gently open to admit Rusk.  
  
The doctor didn't seem to notice anything amiss, and gave them each cursory exams. "You both seem fine. Now, everyone's moving out of here, so you'll probably want to make sure you don't leave anything behind. We lift off in less than an hour."  
  
"What's the rush?" Silira asked.  
  
"While you were under Federation influence, you sent a coded signal," Rusk explained briskly. "We don't know if they recognized it or not, since Vila stopped you. But we're not taking any chances. If they heard it they'll be along to investigate. Best if we're not here."  
  
"I should hope not," Vila assented nervously. "I've had far to much to do with them in my lifetime."  
  
Silira shot him a glance, to see if he was faking his nervousness or not. She couldn't tell. Still, he had the right idea. They were not in an advantageous position. She shrugged, dismissing the matter as unimportant, and went to pack.  
  
***  
  
Jartan Mandra had been head of computer services for four years. He had gained the job when his predecessor had been unable to reassemble Orac. He had spent every spare moment of the last four years studying Orac in the hopes of saving his own neck in a similar situation. Still, when the Empress called for him he felt woefully unprepared.  
  
Luckily for him, she didn't ask him very difficult questions. "These are all the parts that formerly comprised Orac?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Everyone is catalogued and numbered, with a description of its function on file. Or a description of what we suppose its function to be." He was meticulous in giving her the most complete and accurate information he had.  
  
"Do you suppose," she asked, with a heavy emphasis on suppose, "that all the parts are here? That, provided any of you clods knew how to put it together, you could put it together?"  
  
"I believe so, ma'am. In fact, I myself have, on several occasions attempted to assemble it. I found a place for everything, but it still didn't work. I don't know the guiding principle of the mechanism, or I'd have a better idea of how to proceed."  
  
Servalan waved his words away with an impatient hand. She'd heard the same things four years ago. It didn't seem possible, but if Avon was on Aristo, it could only be for one reason. He wanted to build another Orac. She hoped Darren could stop that plan, at least, even if he didn't seem capable of capturing one small cruiser. "Very well," she answered finally, relieving Mandra's tension. "You may go. Take everything with you, and continue working on the problem."  
  
Mandra had no idea what she wanted him to do, but he was not about to ask for clarification of the order. Gratefully, he gathered all the pieces and escaped from the interview.  
  
***  
  
Scalia was in orbit when they spotted a Federation battle cruiser on the long range scanners. The crew went to battle stations immediately, but Blake told them to stand down.  
  
"We're not going to fight this battle. We want them to think we were never on Aristo. Loren, nudge us behind the planet's mass, and change course once we're off their scanners. Then we can test our new drive."  
  
"Where are we headed?" Paige wanted to know.  
  
Avon supplied her with the answer. "We're going to Fiorinal, to get Dynamon to finish the teleport system."  
  
***  
  
--continued in part 4: Interlude--  
Thanks for the reviews on part 2, and please, let me know if this part was up to standard :)  



	4. Interlude

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.  
  
__________________________  
  
Interlude  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
__________________________  
  
  
The trip to Fiorinal was a long one, and the crew chafed at the prospect of four more days of inaction. However, the strain of their stay on Aristo was wearing off. Silira, feeling embarrassed and violated, was determined to stay out of sight whenever possible. But Vila was waiting for his opportunity, and grabbed the chance to stand the night watch with her.   
  
"Let me see if I've understood you correctly," Avon drawled, not looking up from the teleport assembly. It was gaining some semblance of order, but there was obviously much to be done. "You are volunteering to take my watch? I seem to recall a distinct reluctance towards that duty in the past."  
  
Vila fidgeted. He was too impatient for his normal banter, but didn't want to upset the unpredictable engineer. "Yes, well, the sooner you agree, the sooner I'll leave you alone."  
  
Avon glanced at the thief then, hearing the impatience, and a strange note of seriousness. "Well, now, that's certainly an incentive. Very well." He turned his attention back to the teleport. "There's more than enough to be done here."  
  
Vila smiled suddenly, a mischievous thought lightening his face. On his way out, he offered, "I'll send Paige down to help, shall I?" Avon had been avoiding the pretty engineer ever since they'd installed the new drive, and Vila was curious. But not curious enough to risk injury. Consequently, he was out of range when Avon absently swatted behind him.  
  
All the same, Vila thought, she should be helping him. She was good enough, by all accounts, maybe better than Avon on some things. Maybe that's what bothered him. Not that Vila spent too much time worrying over it. He was too worried about his own barely-begun relationship with Silira. She had seemed so friendly after that operation, but she'd hardly spoken to him since. She had smiled, though, and Paige thought he stood a chance.   
  
Paige and Rusk were standing the second watch, and Vila conspired a bit with them. Accordingly, when Silira arrived for her duty, they both melted away before she could realize that Vila was her watch partner. Vila didn't know if she was avoiding him, specifically, or just everyone, but he wasn't taking any chances.   
  
Silira wandered into the pilot's seat before looking around for her partner. She didn't see Vila at first, because he was quite good at disappearing. But he saw her glance around, and stepped forward from a dark corner. "Hello, Silira. I'll be standing watch with you tonight."  
  
She spun around to see him, and then visibly relaxed. "Oh, I'm glad it's you, Vila."  
  
Encouraged by this, he stepped forward, and they moved quite naturally into a hug. Vila realized for the first time how uncomfortable Silira must be around the companions that she had, however unconsciously, betrayed. Her muscles were tense, and she was shaking slightly.  
  
"Here, here, it's alright." Murmuring soothing words, Vila led her to the couch, and helped her to sit, sitting down next to her. "This has been pretty hard on you, eh?"  
  
"I've felt awful." Silira was trying to keep all emotion out of her voice, and nearly succeeding. "No one says anything, but Loren keeps watching me, and I don't think Avon trusts me at all."  
  
"That's alright, love; Avon doesn't trust anyone," Vila soothed her. She was sitting with her shoulders slumped, studying the floor, the picture of despondency. "But he knows you couldn't help it."  
  
She turned to him, with defiant eyes. "You still like me, don't you?"  
  
"Course I do. I always will," he affirmed gently.  
  
She leaned towards him for another hug. "Vila, I love you."  
  
He jerked upwards at that, pushing her gently from him. "You do? Really? Why?" He turned suspicious on the last question, looking hard at her.  
  
She smiled, and pretended to think about it. "You're sweet, you're kind, you're sensible, I love your magic tricks, you're cute, and very good at what you do. You've lived through worse than Avon, for example, and you're still a nice person. And you like me as I am."  
  
Vila had gained, if not confidence, then at least hope from her explanation. "Well, you're wrong on that last point - I love you the way you are," he corrected teasingly.  
  
For the remainder of the night watch, they got acquainted, and the night ended with Vila inviting his love to share his cabin, permanently. She accepted without hesitation. When Silira visited her former cabin later, to move her few things, Paige took the news in stride.  
  
"Good for you. I was wondering when you'd get around to this."  
  
"You don't think it happened a little fast, maybe?" Silira asked pointedly.  
  
"In our, um, line of work, the faster the better, my friend. Tomorrow is not guaranteed," Paige replied tartly. "Besides, what do I know of social customs? The closest thing I've had to a 'relationship' is when that idiot on Cygnus tried to rape me. I don't have your experience." Her voice softened. "But you and Vila seem perfect for each other."  
  
"Well, what about you and Avon? When are you going to go after him?" Silira teased, while packing.  
  
Paige groaned. "In the first place, I'm not sure I want him. In the second place, I don't think it would be wise to pressure Avon, even if I could, which I don't think I can. He's got to set the pace; he's too paranoid to follow anyone's lead. He kissed me, though. Did I tell you that?"  
  
"Mm. Once or twice."  
  
Paige's reluctant laughter was interrupted by an announcement. Blake's voice boomed out of the ceiling "Attention! We need everyone to report to the flight deck in order to go over our plan of action for Fiorinal. Will everyone please report to the flight deck."  
  
Grumbling, the two friends went to join the others.  
  
***  
  
--continued in part 5: Loyalty--  
(I know this is short; I'll post the next part in a few days) 


	5. Loyalty

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
Loyalty  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
__________________________  
  
  
  
Paige tried to walk gracefully in the long, full skirt, but it was difficult; she hadn't worn a skirt since childhood. She'd had some time to practice on board, but she was afraid she still didn't look natural. She tried to forget all about it and to concentrate on the scenery. Fiorinal did look like a lovely world, warm and sunny. Just the place you'd expect to be the playground of the privileged Alpha grades. Much to Vila's regret, however, they weren't there on holiday. Fiorinal was one of the few places where one could purchase jewelry made with Dynamon, and they needed Dynamon to complete the teleport system.  
  
She nearly tripped on her skirts and decided to ignore the scenery, preferring instead to rehearse her role as a new bride. Playing Avon's wife was doing strange things to her respiratory system. Avon was walking next to her with his hand lightly touching her back. Varel and Silira were along as personal guards, wearing non-descript dark blue uniforms. The four of them had come down to the port town of Polymor in the shuttle, and Loren was on alert to take off again at a second's notice. Fortunately for their plans, the jewelers they planned to patronize had an establishment near the shuttle port.  
  
They reached the shadowed door of the jewelers, and Silira moved forward to open it. After giving the interior of the shop a quick glance, she allowed Avon and Paige to enter. Varel entered as well, but remained near the door.  
  
The shop was cluttered with display cases, and dark with wall hangings. It looked considerably smaller than it was. There was a credit register discretely placed in the rear of the shop, next to a door which must lead to the back room.  
  
As the entered the shop, an older gentleman moved forward. As was the fashion, his clothes were voluminous, but even without them he must have been huge.  
  
"Good morning, sir and madam. May I help you?"  
  
Avon looked around the shop lazily and eventually his eyes reached the proprietor. He inspected the man insolently, and finally spoke.  
  
"I wish to purchase a necklace for my wife," he drawled. "My name is Anfi, Tor Anfi. This is my wife, Rojaine." He gestured languidly towards Paige, who was peering into display cases with complete absorption.  
  
The shopkeeper had evidently heard of Tor Anfi, one of the richer men on Earth. One who also, coincidentally, seldom left the planet of his birth. "Ah, yes," he murmured. "Delighted to serve you. What may I suggest?"  
  
"I want something unique." Avon's usual clipped tones were mellowed unpleasantly, and Paige almost didn't recognize his voice. "Something I can be sure that no one else will have. My wife would be displeased to find that anyone else possessed the same jewelry that she does. And I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen." His slow smile threatened retribution for such an insult.  
  
The shopkeeper drew back slightly, then continued with forced pleasantry, "I may have just what you need. There's a new crystal becoming popular. It was found on an obscure little planet in the outer systems. It's just beginning to circulate, and I have the largest intact crystal found yet. It's naturally a blue-white, but of course, any hue is possible. Let me get it for you. Please, make yourselves comfortable." He scurried into the back room, and Silira stationed herself at that exit.  
  
Avon helped Paige to a low cushioned seat, but remained standing. "How are you feeling, my dear?" Avon inquired in a gentler voice. Paige knew he was only acting for the inevitable security monitors, but it was affecting her all the same.  
  
"I'll be fine, I'm sure, Tor. It's just the heat, in this dress. . ." her voice trailed off. She must lay a proper groundwork for the scene to come.  
  
"I suggested a lighter fabric, if you recall," he scolded her lightly, almost affectionately.  
  
She smiled at him, about to reply when the storeowner hurried back in. This time he was accompanied by two of his own guards, who took up positions in opposite corners of the shop, watching Silira and Varel.  
  
"If the lady would care to inspect this," he offered, as he carefully handed her the crystal. It was a smooth, clear stone which filled her palm.  
  
Paige made a show of inspecting it, crying out delightedly, "Why, it's huge. And so pretty. Could it be made into a necklace, do you think?"  
  
She stood and handed the stone to Avon. He weighed it for a moment and nodded slightly. That meant there was enough to provide them all with teleport bracelets. Good. Now for the final act of the play.  
  
"Yes, indeed," the merchant was answering eagerly. "Properly cut, that will give you not only a necklace, but also earrings, an armband -- anything you'd like."  
  
"Well then, we'll take it." Avon returned the stone to Paige and flashed an impressive looking credit chip at the merchant. It looked just like the real thing; however, they hadn't the proper materials to create a functional chip. As soon as it was processed, therefore, it would be discovered as a forgery, and a bad forgery at that. Avon asked the man with an oily smile, "How much would you like for it?"  
  
At that moment, Paige began to totter. "Oh, my, I don't feel well. It's the heat, it must be. Tor. . ." Her voice faded away as she fainted, falling into a display case on her way down. Shards of glass and jewelry scattered everywhere, and there was momentary pandemonium as her "husband" and two guards raced to reach her, damaging some of the other cases. Varel reached her seconds before the others, and she passed him the crystal.  
  
Silira was the next to get to her, and once she was there, Varel backed off, the crystal safely in his inner garments. Avon had thrown the credit chip at the merchant in his haste to get to his wife's side, and now, he proclaimed in alarm, "She's fainted! The baby! We must get her to the doctor's immediately. This could be serious." He helped Silira pick her up, and they immediately started for the door. He turned at the last minute to instruct the shopowner, "Charge whatever you need to against that credit chip. I'll pay damages, of course."  
  
The merchant, dazed, watched them leave without protest. His mind quickly turned from the customers to the credit chip, and he began to process the sale.  
  
Avon carried Paige until they turned the first corner, and were out of sight of the shop, then he gently set her down. Paige quickly stripped out of the heavy skirts, revealing one of her familiar coveralls. The dress had protected her from the fall, so that only her hands were scraped. They then began to run for the shuttle.  
  
They were three-quarters of the way there when the shop's guards burst around the corner and started firing on them. Silira and Varel returned the fire, covering Paige and Avon as they ran.  
  
If it were only the two shop guards, they might have made it. Before they reached the sanctuary of the shuttle, however, the port guards joined the fray. One of the shots hit Paige in her right shoulder, and with a little whimper, she fell down on the hard surface. Silira and Varel were past her before they realized what had happened. They saw guards emerging from all over the port, and kept running. Avon was already in the shuttle when they arrived. He looked around at their entrance, and caught sight of Paige's body lying on the ground. He started back out of the shuttle, but Varel restrained him as the doors began closing. His last glimpse of her as the shuttle prepared for takeoff was of one of the guards kicking her in the side.  
  
***  
  
Space Commander Darren arrived back at the Empress's main offices even wearier than usual. The rebellion at Takma had been successful, at least so far. Servalan would have to invest more than a small squadron to recapture that system, and she wouldn't like going to the effort; it would look bad. The non-aligned systems were starting to form treaties amongst themselves, something which had been unheard of, even five years ago.  
  
The guards at the Empress's door let him through at once. She was sitting in her chair, watching her personal vidlink. At his entrance, she switched it off. He sensed a suppressed eagerness in her that he didn't understand. "What did you find?"   
  
"We searched the planet thoroughly, ma'am. A ship had put down there not long ago, but we couldn't determine what type of ship. It might have been the rebel's ship, or it might have been a merchant cruiser." He paused. No one liked informing Servalan that they had failed.  
  
"Were there any signs in the underground base?" she asked, sounding mildly curious.  
  
"Yes, there were, but all inconclusive, I'm afraid."  
  
"Very well." She dismissed his report with one elegant hand. "Let us assume that Blake had been on Aristo." She forestalled his protest by explaining languidly, "Blake has Avon, and Avon would want Orac. So, they would go to Aristo. I doubt they would gain any advantage there. But," she raised one scarlet tipped finger, "it shows a pattern. They are trying to regain their former powers. Roj Blake had only three advantages, besides luck. Orac, Liberator, and teleport." She smiled lazily.  
  
Darren looked at her uncomprehending, and she continued, her patience beginning to thin.  
  
"Liberator was destroyed, and we have Orac. The only thing they can possibly regain is the teleport. A teleport needs a peculiar sort of crystal, or alloy. Both are rare. Therefore, we need only watch a few places, and wait for them to come to us." She smiled, pleased with herself.  
  
***  
  
The shuttle ride from the surface of Fiorinal to the Scalia seemed like the longest Silira had ever endured. The reality of Paige's death hadn't sunk in yet, but it was working its way towards her consciousness like a slow poison. She couldn't tell what Varel was thinking, but she could feel the fury rolling off Avon. He was sitting stiffly on the acceleration couch, staring at the floor, and he seethed with tension. She could see that he was struggling to control himself, but nevertheless, she was suddenly frightened of him. She tried to keep still and quiet, and was relieved to see that Varel did the same. Of course, she thought wryly, with him, that was normal.  
  
They docked inside Scalia with a less than skillful thump that reminded the three in the shuttle that they were being pursued. Loren barely remembered to open the shuttle hatch before she bolted for the flight deck. Vision could pilot the ship given coordinates and a speed, but more talent was needed for battles.  
  
Silira was the first out of the hatch, followed by Varel. In unspoken agreement, they waited for Avon, and the three of them walked silently towards the flight deck.  
  
Once Loren reached her pilot's controls, her face lit with an unusual happy glow. Nothing else in her life compared to the thrill of ordering a fast battle cruiser, and the chase was likely to be exhilarating. She played with her pursuers at first, and then kicked in the photon drive. The inertial dampers screamed at the sudden acceleration, but held steady. The pursuit ships dwindled in the viewscreens like pebbles down a well.  
  
The thrill of that victory was infectious, and by the time the landing party reached the flight deck, Loren, Blake and Rusk were grinning like children. Vila was the first to notice the arrival of the others.  
  
"Three cheers for the heros," he started, coming towards them. Then he saw Avon's face and flinched. He'd only seen Avon look this bad once before, and that thought was enough to send him crawling into a hole. He compromised by wedging himself into a corner of the flight deck.  
  
Blake was the next to notice that something was wrong. He started towards them, worried. "What's the matter? Did you get the crystal? Is everyone all right?" He scanned their faces until Silira answered.  
  
"Paige was shot. She fell. We didn't have time to get her." Her tone was curt, in an effort to shield her pain.  
  
Varel spoke up then, in a cutting voice, "But yes, we did get the crystal." He extracted it from his garments and nearly threw it at Blake. The rebel leader caught it deftly, and stood weighing it.  
  
"Don't throw it, please," Silira ordered, with a catch in her voice. "Paige d-died for that stone, and we don't want to waste that."  
  
Throughout the whole scene, Avon had said nothing, and now he simply turned and left the flight deck. The world had an eerie unreality, and he wondered in a detached part of his brain if he were finally going mad. Perhaps it would help. Perhaps, he thought with a grimace, he was mad already. Why else would he be having such a strong reaction to what was after all, inevitable? Anyone who was foolish enough to follow Blake could expect nothing better, he told himself brutally, and Paige meant nothing to him. So why did this feeling of loss persist? He had thought himself dead to emotion, but instead, he found a persistent thread of it, pulsing in his mind, disturbing his concentration. He headed for the converted storage hold which now housed the teleport. There was much more work to do.  
  
***  
  
Commander Darren had just sat down to his supper when he received the summons from the Empress. Uncomplaining, he rose again and nodded farewell to his fellow officers at the table. They saluted him and returned to their food.  
  
Servalan was standing when he entered her office. Her gown was one of the more outrageous ones he'd seen, with splashes of red and purple on a silver-white gauze. It was cleverly fashioned to show off a woman's curves, while also concealing their true dimensions. Not that Servalan had many extra pounds. Her appetite for power was so large it left little room for food. She swept around at his entrance, and he was startled by the dancing lights off the glitter in the gown. It seemed a fitting complement to the glitter in her eyes. Darren felt a tremor of worry about her. "You needed me, ma'am?"  
  
"Yes," she answered decisively, with an edge of excitement. "I have a trip to make, and while I am gone, you will administer the base, and the home fleet. Sassic will administer the domestic issues. Delay all important decisions, don't make my absence known, and I will be in contact with you frequently."  
  
Darren was slightly stunned at the sudden increase of responsibility. "But, Empress, where, if I may ask, are you going?"  
  
"There has been a robbery on Fiorinal," she began with seeming irrelevance. "A small party tricked a jeweler and ran off with one of his prized stones. The stone is valuable, but the robbers didn't want money. They stole Dynamon, and they will use it to build a teleport, if they can."  
  
"It was Blake's crewmen?" Darren asked, his heart sinking at the thought of another Federation defeat.  
  
"It was," she confirmed, unperturbed by their success. "However, one of them was shot in the escape. And unfortunately for that person," her voice dripped with false sympathy, "the girl did not die. She is a prisoner, and she is being held until I arrive to question her. My ship is leaving within the hour." She smiled, and stretched cat-like. "Either the girl will tell us how to find Blake and Avon, or they will race to her rescue. Either way, we have them."  
  
She dismissed Darren, and he retraced his steps towards the dining hall. He was worried. The Empress was still too. . .concerned with her former prisoner. He would never have thought that she would relinquish her responsibility to the extent that she had just done, and he wondered how strong a hold this Avon had on her. He'd never been much to look at, but even Darren had to admit that there had been a certain strength in him. It only served to make him more dangerous to them all.  
  
***  
  
Avon worked on the teleport almost non-stop for two days. Varel was the only one who dared to approach him, and he was either ignored or cursed at. Vila was glad to let someone else play his part, especially as he tended to spend his time comforting Silira. The rest of the crew seemed barely touched by the tragedy. They all left Orac to sit in silence, until it brought itself to the forefront.  
  
*Attention!* Orac declared imperially on the morning of the third day. Silira regarded it with deep distrust, and Vila, sitting close to her, smiled sadly at the reminder of Zen.  
  
"What is it, you lousy piece of space debris?" Vila insulted the computer out of habit.  
  
*I have received information about a member of Scalia's crew. There is a standing order to report all such information.* The plastic box sounded as smug and arrogant as ever.  
  
Vila looked as if he were going to snarl again, but Silira shushed him. "What information, Orac?"  
  
*Paige Tarrant is being held for questioning on the planet Fiorinal.*  
  
"What?" Vila and Silira exclaimed in chorus.  
  
Orac responded indignantly, but neither of them were listening.   
  
"She wasn't killed," Silira nearly whispered. "We have to rescue her."  
  
"Yes, I think we do," Vila agreed grimly, thinking of Avon.  
  
Just then, Blake entered the flight deck for his turn on watch, followed by Loren. Silira jumped up and told them the news. Blake nodded, and looked concerned.  
  
"I was worried about that," he confided, "but it makes no difference. We cannot help her."  
  
"What!?" Silira asked, more shocked by this announcement than by the original news. "What are you talking about? We have the photon drive, a teleport. She's a member of this crew. We've got to help her."  
  
"Believe me, we would like to," Loren started, only sounding partially sincere. "But once we show ourselves vulnerable, we lose ground. If they know that we will attempt a rescue of every hostage, then they gain control of our actions. And we cannot allow that."  
  
"What I'm primarily concerned with," Blake continued thoughtfully, "is the information they may pull out of her. We'll need to cut our losses as much as possible."  
  
Silira was upset at that, as well, and continued to argue the point, but Vila slipped off to the teleport section. This was news that Avon needed to hear, and it looked like he would have to be the one to deliver it.  
  
Avon was bending over one of the panels, frowning in concentration when Vila slipped in the door of the small room. The thief had moved very quietly, but at his entrance, Avon stilled his hands and raised his head, managing to project the illusion of moving so fast he seemed still. Vila sensed that the other man was very close to breaking.  
  
"Orac came up with something," he started uncertainly. Would it be better to break the news all at once, or to lead up to it, he wondered uselessly. "Paige is alive."  
  
At that, the tension in Avon eased, and he relaxed every muscle slowly, not releasing his control of himself. He turned back towards the console, and carefully asked, "I suppose Blake is insisting on a mad dash to the rescue." He sounded disapproving of the idea, but willing to play along if the others insisted.  
  
"No, he's not." Avon's head snapped around, but he didn't say anything, so Vila was forced to continue. "He and Loren are talking of not showing vulnerability, and keeping the upper hand. Silira is arguing with them."  
  
Avon turned back to the teleport console, his mind in turmoil once more. He hated to admit, even to himself, that Paige mattered to him. He had always scorned heroics, so how could he turn around now and demand them? Besides, a little voice tormented him, it might be better that she's gone, before she has a chance to betray you. He remembered the agony he had suffered thinking Anna was being questioned, but it was mixed and tainted by the humiliation he had suffered when he had discovered how much of a fool he had been about her. He still sometimes woke up with Anna's voice ringing in his ears: "Why didn't you come back for me?" But Anna had betrayed him, and Paige might do so as well.  
  
He had always counted on others to "convince" him to do the things he couldn't bring himself to initiate. He didn't know any other way. Paige would have to be rescued, but it would need to be someone else's suggestion; Avon was too trapped by habit.  
  
He resumed work at a slightly slower pace, and Vila realized that the tech meant to wait for the others to make the first move. He shook his head sadly, and left as quietly as he'd arrived. If not Avon, it would have to be Varel. Vila didn't enjoy taking risks, but he knew that some of them needed to be taken; besides, if Loren succeeded in dumping Paige, could Vila himself be far behind? Now that he had found Silira, he didn't intend to lose her. His jaw set with determination, he headed off to find Varel.  
  
***  
  
Paige woke up slowly, with most of her attention taken up by the pain in her side. Her left arm and hip also ached fiercely, and she wondered vaguely why no one had repaired the damage yet. Modern medicine could banish any symptoms. She began to suspect, with a hideous sinking feeling, that something had gone wrong. She opened her eyes with misgivings, and saw that she was in a bland, white room. It had one door, one bed, and one primitive toilet in a corner. Her mind suddenly presented her with a memory of Vila, on Scalia, proclaiming that his cell on Zephron had been pretty bad, and that he'd seen the lot. She wondered briefly what he'd think of hers.  
  
She lay still and tried to evaluate her situation. She was wearing an unfamiliar set of light colored coveralls, probably prison issue, and her feet were bare. She remembered being hit in the right shoulder, but there wasn't a wound, so it must have been a stun blast. She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. She also wondered where the Scalia was. She hoped that they'd gotten away safely, but it didn't really make much difference. Unlike Silira, she had heard Blake's views on hostages, and she didn't expect him to change his mind on her account. She was just a poor substitute for an uncle she'd never known. The rest of her life, she reflected gloomily, was likely to be messy and very short. She'd tried to prepare herself for this prospect, but she realized she hadn't done very well. However much she'd told herself that these things could happen, she'd never really expected them to. Not to her.  
  
She tried to shake herself out of that depression. Her dignity was all she had, at a time like this, and she was determined that no one would steal it from her. She got up and started stretching her aching muscles. She doubted that they'd ever get the chance to heal, but if they would just hurt less, she'd be grateful. Pain was something that could be dealt with, or so she hoped.  
  
She heard the clunk-clunk of boots coming down the corridor, and was frozen with sudden panic. She wanted to kick and scream and demand a chance to live, but her habit of self control won out, barely. When her cell door was opened, she was sitting on the bed, facing the door, arms wrapped around herself. Two guards entered, and one of them motioned for her to move forward.   
  
***  
  
Vila managed to persuade Varel to talk with him in his cabin, and they were joined by Silira, who was baffled and infuriated by her inability to change Blake's mind.  
  
"Varel, you've heard the news about Paige?" Vila started out.  
  
The former Federation officer snorted. "How could I miss it? Silira, Blake and Loren were not being discreet."  
  
That didn't tell Vila what he wanted to know, so he tried again. "Do you agree with Blake? Do you think we'd be making things worse by going after Paige?"  
  
Varel studied him for a minute, then answered slowly, "From a purely tactical view, he's got a good point. We would be granting them control of our actions, and walking in exactly where they expect us. But, if that's the way he's running this rebellion, then I don't see the point. Why should we fight to support him if he isn't any different than the Federation? They're supposed to be the callous types to whom lives are unimportant. If we can't improve on that. . ." He shrugged. "So, no, I don't agree with him. We need to rescue Paige. Even if she weren't a valuable crewmember, and our friend, we can't let it be seen that we are so heartless as to abandon her."  
  
Silira groaned. "I tried explaining that to them, but they wouldn't listen. I thought maybe it would help, but Loren is obsessed with appearing strong. She can't seem to consider any other way."  
  
Vila nodded, reminded of someone else he knew like that. "And without her, we can't do anything, because she's the only skilled pilot."  
  
Varel coughed apologetically. "Actually, I'm a pilot. I haven't said anything because Loren guards her territory well, but, I can fly this ship reasonably well."  
  
Vila nodded, satisfied. A plan was taking shape, but it depended on Avon. "Varel, are you heading down to see Avon at some point today?"  
  
"I might drop by at some point, if only to take him food. He's really quite fascinating to watch when he's denying reality."  
  
Vila quirked a smile at that. "Right. See if you could work it into the conversation that you're a pilot and that some of us would like to rescue Paige." And pray that he can respond before it's too late for her, he added silently.  
  
***  
  
Later that evening, Vila was in his cabin alone, waiting for Silira to get off the watch she shared with Rusk. They were arguing about the way Blake was handling the situation; Rusk maintained that policy wasn't his strong point, and that if Blake thought it too dangerous to attempt a rescue, he would agree. Vila had slipped away after the discussion had started. Silira didn't need his assistance.  
  
Vila heard a perfunctory knock before his cabin door before it slid open to reveal Avon. He hesitated slightly, and Vila said warily, "Come in." It was the first time Avon had left the teleport area in three days.  
  
The computer tech entered the cabin, and sat on the unused bunk. For once, he seemed unsure of how to begin. "Vila, I. . ." The words seened pulled out of him, reluctantly. "I. . .need to help Paige. It isn't right, what Blake's doing." The words came quicker now, and he stood, and began to pace in the confines of Vila's small cabin. "Too many people have died. Or nearly died." His eyes slid sideways towards Vila, and the thief realized with a shock of remembered terror that he was referring to that nightmare ride over Malodaar. "I can't change that. But I don't want it to happen again. Do you believe me?"  
  
Avon stared hard at him, and Vila had the oddest feeling that he was asking for forgiveness, saying that he regretted that shuttle ride. He'd never imagined that Avon would regret anything, and the realization that he did helped ease the sting of that betrayal. With that in mind, his voice was almost steady. "Yes, I believe you."  
  
Avon wasn't finished, although he went back to inspecting the floor as he paced. "Vila, I don't know how she'll face the interrogation. She might tell them everything. But I have to know, Vila. I can't handle another Anna." His voice died away on the last word, but he had said everything that Vila needed to hear.  
  
Vila waited a few seconds and then spoke in a normal voice, pretending he hadn't heard the last sentence. "Well, Varel can pilot the ship. Is the teleport completed?"  
  
Avon visibly pulled himself together and answered, "Yes, as far as Orac and I can tell. I didn't have the tools to build bracelets, but I've made some crude necklaces which should serve the purpose. Plus, they can be easily hidden under the clothes. No communicators yet - I'll work on those later. First we need to get Paige back. I've got an idea that may work."  
  
***  
  
Paige was shoved roughly back into her cell after two or three hours of interrogation. She sprawled on the floor, grateful for the opportunity to lie still and untouched. They had told her that she'd been on Fiorinal for over two days. Scalia had gotten clean away, and hadn't been heard from since, which confirmed her suspicion that Blake wasn't coming back for her. She struggled up and managed to lie down on the bed. It wasn't soft but it was better than the floor. In the midst of her pains, she was growing hungry.  
  
She did cherish a faint feeling of victory, though. She hadn't betrayed Scalia yet. It was assumed that all people under Federation interrogation broke sooner or later, but Paige was determined to hold out as long as she could. She did have one advantage. Unlike most pampered and sedated Federation citizens, Paige was used to pain. There were no pain-killing drugs on Cygnus Alpha, so she had learned to function in spite of discomfort.  
  
Thinking of her adolescence on the prison planet brought back more memories. Although her mother had kept her secluded to protect her, Paige had occasionally managed to overhear conversations between her fellow convicts. One of them had claimed to know the secret of beating an interrogation team. What you did, he'd explained at great length, was to lie. Not a single lie, which was easily discredited. Lie continuously, be certain to contradict yourself, and make as many ridiculous claims as you could think of. That would give them too much information to be able to sift through easily, and if the truth did slip out in a weak moment, they wouldn't recognize it. Paige had suspected at the time that the theory was merely drunken rambling, but now it didn't sound too bad. It might be easier than not saying anything, and after all, what did she have to lose? Her weary mind started playing with the possibilities, and before long she fell into a deep sleep.  
  
***  
  
Darren spent the day sitting at the Empress's desk, familiarizing himself with the details of his new responsibilities. Servalan had always insisted on handling everything herself, making sure that none of her subordinates knew everything that was happening. Darren was more than a little surprised by some of the projects in progress. He wanted to do his best at this assignment, but he had a dismal feeling that nothing he did would be right. He knew that his time as acting Supreme Commander was running out. Even before the Blake affair, he had been slowly drifting out of favor. Darren disapproved on principle of the constant turnover of top personnel; he'd seen the chaos it created. Barring treason, however, there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
The door chimed for his attention, and he could see from the vid that Administrator Sassic was waiting to enter the Empress's office. Sassic was a plain, no-nonsense woman in her fifties. She succeeded because she was very efficient, quiet and no competition for the Empress. He opened the door and she entered. He stood; she had as valid a claim to the desk as he, and he had no wish to start any power struggles.  
  
"Greetings, Sassic. How goes your day?" He was on civil terms with the administrator, although he didn't know her well.  
  
"Not as well as I could wish, Darren," she replied bluntly. "Is this office monitored?"  
  
His eyebrows shot up at the question. "Only by me." There was a recording device in the desk, but he had switched it off.  
  
"Very well. I do not want to be accused of treason. But I am very disturbed by what I have found." Her gray eyes mirrored the concern in her voice. "You know that the Empress insists on handling everything herself. If the files I've seen today are any indication, she is ruining us."  
  
"Ruining?" Darren repeated in a skeptical tone. He found it hard to credit, although Sassic didn't usually make mistakes.  
  
"I do not say so lightly. Our economy has been bad, and is getting worse. Our products are mediocre, and there have been instances of food shortages. Producing the food is not the problem, but transport taxes have made companies very reluctant to distribute it. Other areas are in similar disarray. I fear a collapse if we continue in this direction." She paused, watching him closely. "I am loyal to the Federation, as you know. But the Federation is being used up, and may ultimately be destroyed, I fear, unless something changes."  
  
Darren sighed heavily, and considered his answer carefully before he gave it. "There are similar problems in the military. We have all the funds we need, yet the ships and equipment are often poorly made. There is a certain amount of corruption at all levels. We have some bad officers, and therefore bad morale. I do not see how it could be changed."  
  
They regarded one another somberly. They were each aware of the next step, but reluctant to voice it.  
  
***  
  
The mutiny aboard the Scalia went off with surprising ease. Silira waited until Blake and Loren were both in their cabin before jamming the door lock. Avon confronted Rusk, and when he refused to cooperate, locked him in his cabin too. Varel took the helm and began a straight line course back to Fiorinal. Vila took care of most of the worrying, while Avon worked out his plans.  
  
***  
  
Paige was awakened by the rough shove of a guard. She took a tumble to the floor, which set all her aches off again. They took her back to the same dreary room she'd endured for three hours yesterday. Before they had a chance to begin hurting her, she announced that she wished to talk. They listened intently at first, and then with growing disgust, as her lies grew more far-fetched. The head torturer made a note of all the plausible things she'd said, and left to investigate them. Paige's satisfaction in her small victory was quickly overwhelmed by pain as the remaining guards resumed their work, angry at her defiance.  
  
She had almost reached her limit when the interrogation chief returned and put a stop to the proceedings. As she was escorted back to her cell, she overheard a portion of the conversation. It sounded as if the Empress was coming here, to see her, but that couldn't be right. She very rarely left Earth anymore. She puzzled over it briefly, and then gave it up, finding concentration difficult. This time they did feed her, and she managed to eat every bite before collapsing onto the bed.   
  
***  
  
By the time Scalia was approaching the Fiorinal system, Avon had worked out a plan, which while risky, minimized the risk as much as possible. Scalia would teleport Avon to the surface of Fiorinal, somewhere near to the prison which was holding Paige. Since they had no communicators, there was no purpose in remaining in orbit, so Scalia would head back out towards deep space. Four hours later, they would close back in on the planet and teleport Avon, and hopefully Paige, back to the ship.  
  
As they neared orbit, Avon stood waiting in the teleport bay. He was wearing a teleport necklace hidden in his shirt, and was carrying another, as well as a snub nosed handgun. He had painstakingly demonstrated the controls, and had set the destination coordinates himself. Vila sat through the fussing patiently, and waited for the moment of truth. They had a direct voice link-up with the bridge, courtesy of Vision, and when they reached the calculated coordinates, he heard Varel say loudly, "Now, Vila!"  
  
Vila pressed the correct sequence of buttons, and looked up to see Avon fade slowly from sight. It was at least a five second process. "Orac," he demanded anxiously, "did everything work correctly?"  
  
*Of course it did,* the computer huffed, as if insulted by the slight to its work. *Avon is well and at the desired coordinates.*   
  
"We'll see you in four hours, then, Avon," Vila murmured, and rose to join the other two on the flight deck.  
  
***  
  
Avon appeared in a small grove of trees, and vowed to correct that five-second lag. But that was work for later. He started making his way towards the prison.  
  
For a prison, it was only lightly guarded. Fiorinal was, after all, a luxury planet, and didn't suffer much in the way of crime. Avon waited until one of the guards stepped around a corner, and hit him on the back of the neck with the hand gun. The guard folded limply, and Avon dragged him back into the trees. Five minutes later, Avon emerged wearing the guard's uniform. After that, getting inside the building was easy. He flashed a pass at the bored sentry inside the door and proceeded into the heart of the prison.  
  
He found an empty office, and accessed the desk computer to locate Paige. She was in a third floor cell, and was currently waiting to be questioned. A guard had been stationed inside her cell, which indicated special treatment, and Avon was intrigued. He took note of the guards name, and started to make his way towards the third floor. Fortunately, the guards were in the habit of keeping their helmets on at all times, so Avon could move in relative safety.  
  
***  
  
Paige didn't sleep well; her welts and bruises protested any movement. After a while she gave up, and opened her eyes. She saw with a shock that she was no longer alone in the cell - a helmeted guard was standing by the door, as if she could do anything to harm it. She felt a pang at the loss of her privacy, even as she realized that she'd had none before. Hidden cameras seemed easier to deal with, though.  
  
Determined to ignore the new addition, she sat up slowly, and discovered that her hands had been tied in front of her. 'Just how dangerous do they think I am?' she wondered with grim humor. Other than that, she was more or less okay. Her questioners hadn't broken any of her bones yet, at least. She understood it was one of their favorite methods. Gingerly, she drew her knees up to her chest, and looped her arms around them. It was not a comfortable position, but it provided some slight sense of protection.  
  
Having nothing else to look at, she began covertly studying the guard. He was dressed in a dark green and black uniform, and he wore a variation of the ever-popular Federation helmet. It completely hid his face; she couldn't even tell if he was looking at her or not. That began to unnerve her, so she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.  
  
Her mind however, refused to empty. She found herself wishing desperately that someone would rescue her, and she tried to quell that hope. Emotion would only betray her.  
  
Her eyes flew open at the sound of the door opening. There was another guard in the hallway, but he didn't seem to want her; he motioned for the other guard to join him outside. The door shut behind them, and Paige relaxed, trembling. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and one guard rejoined her in her prison. She wondered briefly if it was the same guard, but knew that it made no difference, and closed her eyes again.  
  
After Avon had deposited the guard into a nearby closet, he entered Paige's cell with some trepidation. He hadn't expected things to go this easily, and there were still two more hours before Scalia would return. It might be difficult to evade capture for that length of time.  
  
He was tempted to reveal himself to Paige, but residual caution stopped him. After all, he reminded himself grimly, he didn't know yet what they had gotten from her. She had been under interrogation for three days.  
  
He studied her under the helmet's protective cover. She looked small and defenseless, huddled on the bed, and he could tell that her hands were tied too tightly. She was keeping her calm, though, and he had to admire her for it.  
  
They remained like that for perhaps twenty five minutes, when the cell door opened once again, to admit the Empress Servalan. Avon made a quick salute, and stayed as still as the grave. She paid him less attention than she would a piece of furniture, keeping her eyes fixed on Paige, who straightened up and put her chin out.  
  
Servalan inspected her prize critically for a moment, walking from one side of the cell to the other. "Well, what have we here?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "A jewel thief - excuse me - a failed jewel thief. What have they been doing to you?"  
  
"Teaching me how to play cards, of course," Paige responded levelly.  
  
Servalan smiled at the retort. "Of course. It doesn't look as if you've been winning, does it?"  
  
"That depends on your definition of winning, doesn't it?" Paige responded, mimicking Servalan's tone.  
  
The Empress's smile grew tighter at that. "Come now, let's get down to business. You have information I want. Namely, information leading to the capture of the rebel ship Scalia and her crew. I might have something you want. Perhaps, a trade?" she inquired delicately.  
  
Paige appeared to consider it, and Avon felt his heart rate increase, glad now that he hadn't revealed his presence.  
  
"That's very kind of you," Paige answered at last, "but I don't think you would have anything I need or want."  
  
"You might be surprised," suggested Servalan through daintily clenched teeth.  
  
"I certainly would be surprised," Paige agreed with more spirit than she'd displayed so far, "I'd be amazed if you could offer me any sort of honor or self-respect in return for my friends' lives."  
  
"Your so-called friends," Servalan hissed, losing her temper, "have abandoned you here. What do you owe them? Nothing. You are going to die here, alone and in pain, make no mistake. They don't care for you, why should you care for them?"  
  
Paige untangled herself and sat forward, trembling with anger. "I never expected them to rescue me - there are more important things at stake here than my life. Of course you wouldn't understand that, would you? And if you expect me to beg for my life," she finished scathingly, "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." She regained her temper and sat back against the wall. "It's so undignified, don't you agree? And so rarely effective." Avon smiled wryly at the setdown.  
  
Servalan trembled with rage. She raised her arm and snapped her fingers. "Guard, I need you to break this young woman's arm for me."  
  
Paige blanched, but didn't turn away as the guard started forward. She set her teeth and hoped like hell that she didn't humiliate herself. He walked slowly across the room and positioned himself between her and Servalan. Paige forced herself to stare straight at him, and was very surprised when he began to untie her. Then she cursed herself for hoping. Of course, her arm would be easier to break that way. She just hoped that her high pain tolerance would hold true.  
  
Avon untied Paige's arms slowly, watching her reactions. She appeared very calm, but he noted that her chin was trembling. Almost involuntarily, he reached out and stroked her jawline lightly. She jerked away, a new fear reflected in her eyes.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for, fool?" Servalan interrupted impatiently. "Break her arm."  
  
"I think not, Servalan," Avon replied, turning to face her and removing the helmet.  
  
Paige had turned her head towards the Empress, and therefore was privileged to watch her reaction to Avon's voice. She emitted a strangled gasp and swayed ever so slightly before grabbing on to her composure. She took a deep breath and purred, "So, Blake didn't abandon his companion. I thought he would not. I am surprised at you, though, Avon. Risking your life? For Blake's cause? I had thought you'd gotten over that." She smiled and shook her head at his stupidity.  
  
"You persist in misjudging me, Servalan." Avon's tone held no rancor, just a slight edge of amusement. "I'm not here for Blake's cause."  
  
That seemed to disturb the Empress. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face, and then her gaze turned to Paige. Paige scrambled to stand up, and stood close to Avon's side. He slowly raised his arm and placed it around her shoulders. She didn't understand what he was doing until she noticed how infuriated the Empress was becoming.  
  
Servalan breathed hard for a few moments, and then rejoined the fight. "You risked your life for her? I would not have thought you'd be so foolish, especially," she emphasized her words with venom, "especially after that little incident with Bartolomew."  
  
Paige darted a glance upwards at Avon's face; she didn't understand the reference, but it was obviously meant to hurt him. A fleeting grimace passed over his face, but then a new expression took it's place, an expression akin to peace.  
  
"Perhaps, Servalan, it was because of Anna. Because Paige is not like her." He gave Paige's shoulders a tiny squeeze, but at that sign of affection, Servalan's pent-up wrath exploded, and her iron control vanished. Yelling something incoherent, she launched herself at Paige. Avon easily intercepted the lunge and dealt her a sharp blow to the base of the neck. She went limp, and fell to the floor.  
  
Avon turned quickly to Paige. "We have to get out of here, but Scalia won't be back in range for another hour or so. We'll have to hide. Stay on the bed until I take care of the guards." She nodded and sat back on the bunk, grateful for the chance to sit down, while he put the concealing helmet back on. Then he turned and beat on the door. "The Empress has collapsed!"  
  
The door opened to admit two more guards. They rushed in to kneel by the woman on the floor, and Avon pulled his gun on them. "Kindly don't move," he instructed them, and motioned for Paige to join him.  
  
They emerged into an empty hallway, and Avon sealed the cell door. He took Paige's hand into his own and lead her towards a little used sector of the prison. The building had apparently not been built as a prison, and the conversion was not complete. During his earlier prowls, Avon had discovered an unused nook that seemed perfect for the purpose.  
  
As they walked, Paige began to feel the effects of the adrenaline rush. She wished she could stop trembling. She had to clutch Avon's uniform to keep herself upright. He helped her to move as quickly as she could. They only had to stop twice for Avon to open locked doors.  
  
They reached the hiding place just about the time that the alarm went off. Paige tugged Avon's sleeve to get his attention, and when he looked down at her, she said quite seriously, "If it comes to that, Avon, I don't want to be recaptured. I'd much prefer a clean, quick death. Could you arrange that for me?" Avon looked into her eyes, found something he recognized, and nodded.  
  
He opened the door and nudged Paige into the small, dark room, locking them both in. She stumbled over some of the junk littering the floor, emitting a small cry. Avon reached for her, and caught her by her coverall, barely saving her from a fall.  
  
"We're going to be in here for over an hour, if all goes well. Let's sit down." Avon suggested.  
  
Paige agreed eagerly. He sat down first, facing the door, and made her sit down in front of him, so that she was reclining on his chest. He fished something out of a pocket, and draped it around her neck, explaining softly, "This will enable you to teleport when Scalia returns."  
  
They sat silently in the dark, listening for sounds of a search. Alarms were going off all over the building, but no footsteps had come near them. Paige was stiff in his embrace at first, but relaxed slowly, and soon felt bold enough to ask softly, "Why isn't Scalia in orbit?"  
  
"We didn't have the security codes necessary to convince the planet's computers that we had legitimate business. Perhaps you've forgotten that we recently pulled a robbery here." His customary sarcasm had returned, comforting Paige. "They wouldn't be glad to see us."  
  
"True, but I thought Loren had lots of bogus codes. She more or less collects them. Scalia can signal in as any number of ships. Why couldn't you use one of those?"  
  
Avon grinned ruefully, and wished he'd thought of it. "Loren wasn't feeling very cooperative. Blake had decided that it wouldn't be worth the effort to rescue you, so Silira locked him into his cabin and Varel flew the ship back here. Vila worked the teleport for me. You'll have to forgive the delay. We had thought you were dead, until Orac told us otherwise."  
  
Paige was moved to the point of tears by the evidence of her friends' feelings, and angrily wiped the tears away. She hated the weakness in herself, but it had been an exhausting three days, and before long, she dropped off to a fitful sleep.  
  
Avon held her as she dozed, and kept listening for footsteps in the corridor. He'd done considerable damage to their electronic monitoring system, so they'd have to search in person. He wished he could tell how much longer they had to wait.  
  
He spent his time, sitting in that closet, in evaluating his own life. For once, there was no technical problem to hide behind, and his ability to be brutally practical was finally applied to his own feelings. He had spent enormous amounts of energy on suppressing and ignoring his emotions, in an attempt to avoid pain. Evaluated honestly, his efforts were ineffectual at best, counter-productive at worst. He had denied himself the pleasures of friendship, but he hadn't escaped the pain of losing friends. He had spent six years on Earth missing Vila's inane chatter, Tarrant's proud posturing, and Dayna's bright smile.  
  
It was true that friends were not always reliable, but neither did they always betray him. Vila had never betrayed him, or at least not intentionally, Avon amended with a grim smile. Paige had not betrayed him either, it seemed. He prided himself on being a pragmatist, yet he had been ignoring the evidence. Perhaps, he thought cautiously, it was time to change, although he wasn't sure how to go about it. Trust was a difficult thing to recapture, and he'd been fortifying his defenses for years.  
  
Avon had become too preoccupied with his self-examination to listen for the search, and so he was taken by surprise when the door to the closet was kicked open, and three guards charged in, weapons drawn. He shut his eyes against the sudden light, and felt Paige start to wakefulness.  
  
The guards arranged themselves in a rough semicircle with weapons drawn. "Alright, you. On your feet," the middle one ordered with a jerk of his gun.  
  
Avon stood slowly. Paige tried to stand, but was still too weak, and started to collapse. Avon caught her, and picked her up. He stood facing the guards with her cradled in his arms.  
  
They stood in those positions for an endless time, which consisted of three or four minutes, until Servalan glided onto the scene. She had regained her composure, but was obviously livid.  
  
She surveyed Avon and Paige with disgust for a moment, and then essayed a sigh. "Avon, I had such hopes. . ." She shook her head gently, and then turned her attention to the girl in his arms. "As for you," her voice turned ugly. "You will live just long enough to regret the day you were born. You will never have him!" Servalan began ranting, but it seemed to Paige as if she were receding into a mist. At first she thought she was fainting, but then she began to see Vila and Silira coming into focus, and it dawned on her that the teleport was operational.  
  
When Silira saw the shapes of Avon and Paige appear in the teleport bay, she allowed herself to relax, and to feel a quick rush of joy. Then she returned to her normal efficient self, and spoke into the communicator. "They're here, Varel. Get us outta here."  
  
"No problem," he replied calmly, and Silira felt the ship shift vectors. Meanwhile, Vila had leapt out of his seat to help Avon. Only then did Silira notice with interest that Avon seemed to be holding Paige quite protectively. He refused Vila's offer of assistance. Paige had time to say hello and that she was fine before Avon carried her out of the room towards medical.  
  
***  
  
When they released Blake and Loren, the rebel treated them to a perfunctory lecture on tactics, but the mutineers were too elated by their success to pay much heed. And Blake had a some trouble looking Paige in the eye when she emerged from medical, wearing medi-pads on her injuries.  
  
Loren was not so easily abashed, and so, in a loud voice, she demanded to know just what information Paige had surrendered. Paige stiffened and very slowly turned to face the small Asian. They were very similar in size, but at that moment, Paige towered over the pilot. She gazed steadily at Loren, not saying a word until Loren lowered her eyes.   
  
"I," Paige began evenly, "endured three days of interrogation and deprivation." She leaned forward to punctuate her words, with every eye upon her. "At no point did I divulge any information. However, sooner or later I would have broken, and then the Federation, your enemies, would know everything that I know. It was in your best interest to either rescue or kill me. I suggest you remember that in future."   
  
Having said her piece, she crossed the flight deck to sit on the couch. Silira quickly joined her. Loren remained at her position, but it was quite some time before anyone spoke to her, or even looked in her direction.  
  
***  
  
Darren was in his quarters when he received the call from Sassic. "Supreme Commander," she spoke formally, "you are needed in the Imperial office. We have a communication you need to see."  
  
Within ten minutes he presented himself at the office. Sassic was looking more rumpled than usual, and she invited him to sit down. "This," she explained, punching a few buttons, "is the report we received from the governor of Fiorinal."  
  
The recording began, and Darren watched and listened to Servalan confronting Avon. Avon was holding a girl in his arms, and the Empress was clearly upset. She seemed in control until the figures of the man and the girl started to fade away. At that, she lost every vestige of dignity, and started screaming at the empty air. She seemed completely oblivious to the surrounding guards, and when she looked up, they could see that she was crying.  
  
Darren stopped the tape, deeply disturbed. "I knew that she had some personal interest in the man Avon, but this. . .is more serious than I had thought."  
  
"We must keep in mind that the governor of Fiorinal holds no love for our Empress," Sassic pointed out dispassionately. "It would be disastrous if that tape were to be publicly distributed."  
  
Darren considered that possibility with a shudder. The Federation, in its weakened state, might dissolve altogether under the shock. They had seen the effects of that when Star One had been destroyed, and were even now rebuilding. With a heavy heart, Darren realized that in a conflict between the Empress and the Federation, the Empress would have to go.  
  
"We will have to minimize that risk," he said slowly, watching Sassic carefully. She nodded, and he continued, "We may have to take care of Servalan."  
  
"How?" she questioned calmly.  
  
"I have some guards I can trust. If I show them this tape and explain the situation, we can count on their assistance." He paused, trying to consider every contingency.  
  
"No one knows yet that she's gone," Sassic pointed out. "Except for her personal guards, and they're accompanying her. Her ship is unmarked. If something were to happen to her, it would be some time before the news got out."  
  
"The main problem is her replacement. We need a stable government, not another selfish dictator. I have no desire for the power of command; perhaps you would be our best answer."  
  
Sassic bowed her head, flattered. "I have no lust for power, myself, but it seems to me that that may be the best qualification for it. I do think I could ease things for the Federation, so I will accept. On one condition." Darren listened politely. "I do not wish to take on this burden alone. I will require your help. May I suggest a partnership?"  
  
The two conspirators regarded each other squarely. Then Darren extended his right hand in a gesture of agreement. Sassic responded in kind, and gave him a firm handshake.  
  
"Then it is agreed," she stated.  
  
"Yes. I will dispatch a small ship to lay in wait for and ambush the Empress. We cannot afford to keep her alive."  
  
***  
  
As soon as her second session in the sick bay was completed, Paige retreated to the engine room. She spent some time just sitting at the main console, relaxing, back in familiar territory. All the same, she was instantly on edge when Avon stepped in the small room. She turned her chair so that she was facing him, and just looked at him for a second. He looked tired, but somehow younger.  
  
"I want to thank you for rescuing me." Paige was relieved to note that her voice was steady.  
  
"It was a team project," Avon reminded her.  
  
Paige nodded in acknowledgement. "And I have already thanked the other members of the team." Her stomach tensed at the prospect of her next words, but she had to ask. "Avon, why did you say what you did to Servalan?"  
  
Avon thought about it for a moment more, then answered softly. "Because, Paige Tarrant, they were true. You have become special to me." The words came out far easier than he'd expected. It helped that he knew Paige was no more comfortable with this attraction than he was.  
  
Paige stood slowly, too restless to sit. "I see. Well, I suppose I should admit, however reluctantly," she flashed a nervous smile, "that I seem to be fond of you, too." She finished in a rush, and kept her eyes fixed on a low section of the wall. "I'm really not sure why."  
  
Afterwards, Paige was never really sure who moved first, but the next thing she knew, she was in his arms, in a warm hug. They stood motionless for a moment or two, and then she raised her face for a kiss. He kissed her gently, and then released her.  
  
"I am. . .out of practice at this," he admitted. "But I've spent too much time alone. I used to crave solitude, but it's not as good as I thought it would be."  
  
Paige could tell that he was still very reserved, but she thought that if she were very careful, and didn't demand too much, she might someday get close to Avon. At the moment, there was nothing she wanted more.  
  
"I've never been in practice. But I'll try to be what you need, Avon. I promise."  
  
He looked at her searchingly, then bent and kissed her quickly once more. Then he left the engine room, in need of some less emotionally charged surroundings. Paige went back to work with a half smile, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. It wouldn't be easy, that was sure. But it might be worth it.  
  
***  
  
--concluded in part 6: Coup D'Etat--  
  



	6. Coup D'Etat

I apologize for taking so long to post this ... I got distracted by Real Life. And actually, I was originally planning to end this story with "Loyalty", but then several of my characters ganged up on me and insisted on taking action, so I was *forced* to write another chapter ;) This one, however, is it. Hope it's been worth your while!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you've seen on TV. This story has appeared, in slightly different form, in the fanzine "Dark Between the Stars" circa 1991, under the name P. Weaver.  
  
__________________________  
  
Coup D'Etat  
by Pam Jernigan jernigan@bellsouth.net  
  
__________________________  
  
  
The crew of the Scalia were finally relaxing, safe away from Fiornal. No pursuit ships were on the screen, and they had a few days leisurely travel time before a rendezvous with one of Blake's allies on an outer planet. Blake had declared a celebration in honor of Paige's rescue, blithely disregarding the fact that he had initially opposed it. The crew, with the exception of Loren, had taken that as part of Blake's character -- Blake always wanted to be on the side of the right, especially if enough time had passed to prove it right. Besides, he was a good-natured man, and he was genuinely pleased that Paige was safe. Loren was still getting the cold shoulder from several (especially Silira) but deplored Blake's "compromise of principle".   
  
Still, a party was a party, so the crew was gathered on the flight deck. The ship's galley, as run by Paige and Silira, had produced some exotic (and questionable) delicacies, and Vila had finally coaxed Orac into devising a formula for some of his favorite adult beverages (also questionable).   
  
Vila opened the party by distributing the drinks; he poured a glassful for everyone, and kept the pitcher for himself. He gave every appearance of bliss at his reunion with intoxicants. Silira kept a close eye on him. She didn't think he was as drunk as he was acting, but she couldn't be sure. She smiled at his obvious enjoyment and decided not to worry about him.   
  
The main entertainment at the party was, at the outset, Silira and Vila's carefully edited version of the rescue plot by the mutineers. Paige was enthralled, although she could tell that much was being glossed over. Varel was as languid as ever, and Avon was not in a party mood. Still, he was there, sitting next to Paige; not quite touching her. Rusk paid attention but didn't say much. Blake, self conscious, kept trying to change the topic, and eventually succeeded. The conversation fragmented then into small groups.   
  
The party was winding down when Orac spoke, but it managed to catch all of crew's attention.   
  
*Attention. A bulletin concerning the Empress Servalan has been received. There is a standing order to report such information.* The words could have been apologetic, but were not. After a dramatic pause, Orac continued, anticipating Avon's impatient command to that effect.   
  
*It appears that there has been a palace coup. Servalan had been absent from Earth for some reason, and in her absence, two of her top advisors, acting Supreme Commander Darren and Administrator Sassic, have secretly ordered a convict to waylay and kill Servalan.*   
  
A general cheer erupted. Blake was left stunned, staring blindly at his drink. Avon had broken into a savage smile, and Paige smiled back at him in triumph. Even Vila sobered up enough to discuss the news energetically.   
  
Silira was happy as well, and noticing that, Paige leaned forward to ask her, "Sil, why are you grinning? You never met her."   
  
"True enough," Silira replied, still grinning. "But I've heard enough about her. From Vila, and you. She wasn't even popular with the Terra Nostra - she was bad for business."   
  
Paige was perplexed. "I never heard of her working against organized crime."   
  
Silira giggled at that. "Well, of course not. She was *running* organized crime."   
  
As Paige leaned back to think that over, Avon leaned forward to ask more questions. "Orac, has she been reported dead yet?"   
  
Varel wandered closer to the blinking box. After a minuscule pause, Orac replied, *No such report has been made.*   
  
Avon and Varel exchanged significant glances, and Avon continued questioning. "Orac, I want all you have about this plan. Is the assassination planned for in space? It must be. Give me all you can find about this convict. Then I want to know the speed and course required to be at the rendezvous point before either ship."   
  
At a glance from Avon, Varel drifted towards the pilot's station, ready for instant action. Then they both waited for Orac's reply.   
  
***   
  
Darren drummed his fingers restlessly on the desk. The sergeant at the holding cells had promised to deliver a competent pilot before dinner. Dinner had come and gone, and no results, which struck him as odd. There were generally one or two smugglers in the cells at any one time, due to restrictive tariffs. The modified pursuit ship could function on auto-pilot, he supposed, but he preferred human back-up in case of malfunction.  
  
Just as Darren was reaching for his vid pickup, the door chimed softly. He keyed it to open, and the sergeant entered with two women. Darren raised on eyebrow in a question, and the guard hurried to explain.   
  
"These two are a team, they said. Wouldn't even tell me which one was the pilot. But they were all that was available. The record is impressive, sir. It needed three pursuit ships to catch them."   
  
Darren considered them impassively. One of the women was black, with a razor-short haircut, and the other was a cool blond, whose hair hung in tangles. Neither one was very young, which was promising; they were too old to have survived by luck alone. The blond was staring ahead defiantly, while the black woman seemed disinterested.   
  
He gestured to the sergeant to have a seat. The women remained standing in front of his desk. He continued studying them, partly to make them uncomfortable. It had no visible impact.   
  
"So you are smugglers." He made it a question.   
  
The blond glanced at him for a moment, and answered, "That. And mercenaries."   
  
Darren concealed his sudden smile. The sergeant hadn't mentioned that. "Ah. I have a contract for you. Which one of you is Reyna?"   
  
The blonde's gaze flickered to him again, claiming the name.   
  
He turned towards the black woman. "Then you must be Kay." She didn't move, so he turned his attention back to her partner.   
  
"I have a contract for you," he repeated. "There is a Class 4 pursuit ship on its way here from the third sector. You will intercept and destroy it. You will leave here immediately in another Class 4 ship, which will be operating under a very strict pilot program. You will intercept the other ship and transmit to it a self-destruct code. Once that code has been sent and the other ship has been destroyed, the autopilot will be released, and the ship is yours." He spread his hands and shrugged. "What could be easier?"   
  
Kay was watching him now, with deep distrust. "I take it that Space Command is fresh out of pilots?"   
  
"The affairs of Space Command are none of your concern," he snapped. They clearly disagreed, but didn't argue. "You have two choices. Accept this contract and go free, or decline, and spend the rest of your lives in slavery. Which do you prefer?"   
  
They exchanged glances. Reyna asked, "Will the other ship be armed? And who is the passenger?"   
  
"Yes, it will be armed, but they will attempt to communicate first, assuming you to be an ordinary patrol ship. You will then transmit the code that will trigger its self-destruct mechanism. Ordinary weapons should not be needed. As to the passenger," he shrugged, "does it matter?"   
  
Reyna set her jaw. "Yes. We like to know who we're killing."   
  
Darren shrugged again. He had decided earlier that it would be safe for him to tell them. He didn't imagine that Servalan had many friends among the criminal classes. "Very well. You will be assassinating the Empress Servalan."   
  
That produced a strong reaction, he was pleased to note. Without even glancing at each other, they replied in unison, "We'll do it."   
  
"Where's our ship?"   
  
"The sergeant will take you to your ship. More detailed instructions await you there. Good hunting."   
  
Darren watched them leave silently. He was satisfied that they would follow his instructions about killing Servalan. After that, well, they might try to override the program he'd set the ship for, but he doubted they'd be able to. As long as they were powerless to interfere with his plans, he didn't begrudge them a temporary sense of triumph.   
  
***   
  
Orac hummed industriously for a few moments, then responded. *The information received is incomplete, but I can extrapolate the missing data with 89 percent efficiency.* He paused for approval.   
  
"So, extrapolate already," Vila replied impatiently, startling Varel, who hadn't been aware that the thief was even listening.   
  
*Supreme Commander Darren has ordered some modifications to a Class 4 pursuit ship.*   
  
"That's top of the line," Varel explained, surprised.   
  
Orac continued, *The ship's computer has been substantially pre-programmed, so that the pilot has very little input into the speed or heading. The ship will proceed directly to these coordinates--" Varel made a note of them.   
  
*Once it achieves them, it will begin a search pattern. That program will hold for 50 hours, then it will activate a self-destruct sequence. The pilot has control only of limited-range communications and weapons systems. Presumably, Servalan's ship will cross these coordinates sometime within the next few days, at which point it will be destroyed.*   
  
***   
  
Reyna and Kay followed the sergeant to the Supreme Commander's private docking bay. They were somewhat less alert than normal to possibilities of escape. Servalan's death was a powerful lure.   
  
The sergeant briskly put them into the ship, pointed out their emergency gear, produced a package of further instructions, and left. The main hatch rung softly behind him as it sealed itself. They regarded each other gravely.   
  
"Well." Kay was the first to speak.   
  
Reyna was not in the mood for a philosophical discussion. "I suggest we strap down, and get familiar with the instruments. Any objections?" She didn't wait for a reply, but crawled forward to the pilot's seat.   
  
"This ship will be so automated we won't have to know the difference between forward thrusters and rear deflectors," Kay complained cheerfully as she crawled forward herself. She also began studying the instrument panel.   
  
They remained silent and watchful during the automated launch, but once away from Earth, they relaxed somewhat. Reyna decided to finally answer Kay's earlier question. "Well. I don't think this looks good for us." She didn't sound worried, but Kay knew her partner better than that.   
  
"No." After the years they'd spent together, their conversations were pared down to efficient levels. "What do you suppose the trap will be?"   
  
"Could be almost anything. It doesn't even have to look like an accident. We've got another day to go. I'll start looking up here. Check what you can of the life support systems."   
  
Kay nodded, then rose gracefully and headed towards the rear of the small chamber. These Federation pursuit ships were cramped.   
  
***   
  
In a nearly identical pursuit ship, lifting off from Fiorinal, Servalan was fuming. She hadn't enjoyed that final interview with the planetary governor. He'd been careful not to mention it, but it was quite obvious that he had heard about, or even worse, seen her disastrous loss of composure. She had recovered almost immediately, of course, but those troops had not been her own personal guards - they'd been Fiorinal men, who reported to the Governor. Who in turn had never been properly respectful. She had waited too long to dispose of him. Already she knew exactly how his death could be accomplished, but that was only a small revenge. She reserved her most creative and destructive energies for the problem of Avon.   
  
What was left of her soul writhed in agonies of humiliation when she remembered the scene in that Tarrant girl's cell. She had been looking forward to that interrogation. Avon's presence had been a welcome surprise - at first. She had missed having him to sharpen her claws on. He had been right to guard against personal involvement; the more she'd learned about him, the better she'd been able to torment him. And still he hadn't surrendered. All the same, she had had the advantage over him for over five years. It had been exhilarating to face him on equal ground - an exciting new round of their old, familiar game. She just hadn't expected to be so completely dismissed. Avon had lost interest in their game.   
  
Very well, then. After this, her pursuit would be merciless and her revenge would be total. With that thought in mind, she leaned forward to instruct her mutoid crew to increase speed. She had a lot to accomplish; she needed to get back to Earth.   
  
***   
  
Using the new improved drive, Scalia reached the rendezvous well before the projected showdown. Loren displayed the surrounding space, but no other spacecraft were revealed.   
  
Not that anyone besides Loren was paying attention.   
  
"Under no circumstances will we contact the convict. We know nothing about him, and he has a fully armed pursuit ship!" Avon seemed irritated that anyone would think otherwise.   
  
Silira, however, wasn't cowed. "He is in a pursuit ship which is operating on remote control. He's acting solely on pre-programmed commands."   
  
"And you'd know about that, wouldn't you?" Loren shot nastily.   
  
Silira drew her breath, and then resumed her argument. "Yes, I would, thank you very much. I needed someone to rescue me, too, and I was lucky." She smiled briefly and brilliantly at Vila, who was trying to blend into the couch.   
  
"This convict needs rescued, as well. We cannot simply leave him there to self-destruct," Rusk spoke firmly.   
  
"Thank you, Rusk, for your show of support," Blake said, surprised.   
  
Avon scowled, and Loren glared at Blake. He wasn't following her lead in this, and she was worried. But security had to come first.   
  
Varel was looking worried, as well. "I think we have to be careful about this person. He's a convicted criminal, and even in the Federation, that sometimes means something. They're not all frustrated populists, and they don't all have hearts of gold."   
  
That confounded Blake for a moment. In fact, he was having a tough time justifying his instinctive position. He had never idolized or idealized criminals in any way, even though he worked with quite a few. Yet, he felt an instant sympathy with this particular convict. While he groped for reasons, Silira jumped back into the fray.   
  
"No, of course not. Most of them, however, are fairly reasonable people. And, yes, Loren, I'm speaking from experience. Varel, Avon, I don't see what harm will be done by talking to him. It will gain us more information. Then we can decide if he deserves to die."   
  
"And when did we get smart enough to decide that?" Paige couldn't resist asking. Her friend ignored her.   
  
Blake's momentary confusion subsided. "Yes, Silira, I agree with you. We must get more information before we decide."   
  
The argument continued for a while, but as it consisted mainly of repetitious statements, a little louder each time, Paige's mind wandered from the topic. This debate was creating strange allies. Silira and Blake were hardly ever in agreement, but that was nothing compared to seeing Avon and Loren on the same side! Neither one of them looked very happy about it, either. Even normally quiet Rusk was speaking up. Probably his medical training; he couldn't just leave someone there to die. On second thought, though, he hadn't been too eager to rescue her. . .Paige suppressed her rising bitterness. He was siding with Blake, as always.   
  
She turned her head to watch Vila. It was a testament to his talents that she'd almost forgotten he was there. He'd been keeping quiet. Maybe he didn't want to get caught between Avon and Silira. Maybe Paige was keeping quiet for the same reason. She turned back to the rest of the group, and noticed Varel watching her. She smiled reluctantly. Somehow, she could tell that he was thinking along similar lines. As she turned her gaze towards Avon, she reflected that Varel was really a very nice person. It was too bad that she had fallen for Avon already. Objectively speaking, Varel might have been a better choice. Too late now -- kind of a shame. By some criteria, he was the most attractive one on the ship.   
  
***   
  
Kay stared, unbelieving, at the monitors. Then she reached over to shake her sleeping partner. "Wake up. This is weird."   
  
Reyna woke quickly, and her eyes darted to the instrument panel. The first thing she noted was that the ship's motion had slowed to a crawl. Then her attention turned to the ship on the screen.   
  
"What is it?" she asked, almost certain she knew.   
  
Kay raised her hands helplessly. "It looks like a Horizon class Federation cruiser. But the readings are strange - it's been modified. And it's not broadcasting Space Command's ident code - it's not broadcasting at all. Just sitting there." She sounded grim.   
  
"Has it moved?" Reyna leaned forward, uselessly checking the readouts.   
  
"No, it's just watching us. Should we communicate?" She stared at the other ship, hoping to solve its mystery.   
  
"No! It could be part of the trap. Maybe it will destroy Servalan and blame us. We don't know who they are or why they're here. So we stay quiet."   
  
Kay, obedient to her partner's highly developed survival instincts, agreed, and they were quiet as they watched the mysterious ship.   
  
***   
  
The Empress was the last to arrive. She had been pleasantly absorbed in planning a grisly fate for Avon when the mutoid pilot pointed out the ships in their path. It was unusual, and therefore suspicious, to encounter ships randomly this far from a solar system. She leaned forward to scrutinize the display, and stiffened in shock.   
  
"Scalia," she breathed. With her enemy in sight, Servalan, for once, forgot her long-range plans. "Pilot, destroy that ship -- now!" Obedient as ever, the mutoid opened fire.   
  
***   
  
Scalia's crew was still arguing about communications when Servalan's ship appeared on the detectors. Vila had been keeping his head down by watching the displays, so that he was the first one to see her approach. "That's her!" he squeaked in surprise, "She's early!"   
  
Loren lunged for the controls, as Avon shouted, "Vision, put up the force wall!"   
  
+Force wall in place,+ Vision replied promptly, without a hint of its characteristic boredom. +Incoming!+   
  
Silira and Varel had both jumped for their battle stations, and the others scrambled for something to hold on to. Seconds after Vision's announcement, they felt the ship rock. Paige waited for the motion to subside, then started toward the engine room.   
  
***   
  
Servalan's abrupt arrival had also surprised Reyna and Kay, unpleasantly. If Darren had been wrong about this much, what else hadn't he anticipated? Her ship was barely in detector range before she started firing on the mystery ship. She didn't seem to have noticed the mercenaries yet. Reyna counted four plasma bolts launched in quick succession, amazed at the ferocity of attack. The unknown pilot was doing a beautiful job of evading the worst of the barrage, and if he succeeded, Servalan would be out of energy before her enemy fired a single shot.   
  
"Incredible. She must really hate that ship, or she'd be holding back more." Kay watched in fascination. Her comment reinforced Reyna's own analysis, but it also reminded her of the need to act. Analysis was for the winner; if you lost, you no longer cared.   
  
Reyna slipped back into her combat mode, calmly reviewing her limited options. She quickly called up the program she'd written earlier. It was a simple, endless loop, which had only one purpose. It would broadcast the destruct code that Darren had assured them would start a chain reaction in Servalan's control computer. All Servalan had to do was open one communications channel, and her ship would self-destruct. Reyna was betting that she couldn't destroy her enemies without saying one final, gloating good-bye, and then . . .   
  
***   
  
Servalan was shouting at the mutoid crew now, although it didn't impress them. "Fire everything we have at that ship. I will destroy them. Avon, do you hear me? I will destroy you!"   
  
One of the mutoids pointed out the mercenaries' ship, which had been unnoticed until now. On seeing what she took for newly-arrived reinforcements, Servalan grabbed for the communicator.   
  
***   
  
"Federation pursuit ship, this is the Empress Servalan--" Reyna smiled fiercely at the familiar, hated voice. Kay only smiled when she saw the Empress's ship explode into a sparkling cloud of dust and plasma.   
  
***   
  
A tremendous cheer erupted on Scalia's flight deck, and some indiscriminate hugging broke out. Even Loren, once she had brought the ship under control, joined in the celebration. Vila remembered to call Paige in the engine room with the news, and she celebrated, privately, with Avon, who had followed her.   
  
***   
  
Kay had tears in her eyes as she stared at the monitor. "Finally, I've got my vengeance. I'm only sorry it took me so long."   
  
Reyna was silent, unwilling to intrude on her friend's thoughts. Finally, Kay shook herself out of it.   
  
"Well," Kay smiled wearily, "that was my only reason for living. And you achieved your goal long ago. We might as well find out who she was trying to kill."   
  
Reyna shrugged philosophically. "Well, when you put it that way. . ." Her fingers danced over the controls. "Battle cruiser, this is the Vengeance. Come in please."   
  
"Imaginative name," Kay commented dryly.   
  
"Short notice," Reyna retorted.   
  
***   
  
The celebration on board the Scalia toned down somewhat when they heard Reyna's voice. Loren headed towards the communications station, beating Rusk by seconds. "This is the rebel cruiser Scalia. Please identify yourself and your loyalties."   
  
Blake listened, hoping for the best, as Paige and Avon slipped back onto the flight deck.   
  
Reyna responded coolly, her voice ringing clear in the sudden quiet. "We are mercenaries, and loyal to no one."   
  
Vila's eyes narrowed, and he slanted a glance at Avon, who was also looking thoughtful. Loren continued the interrogation, but they were no longer listening.   
  
Avon strode over to where Orac was sitting quietly and inserted the activator key. Barely waiting for the opening whine, he ordered, "Orac, analyze and identify the voice from the Vengeance, please."   
  
Vila and Paige joined him, with Silira close behind. Before Orac could respond, however, the speakers crackled.   
  
"Did I hear you mention Orac?" Kay's voice was excited. "Is Avon on that ship?"   
  
***   
  
Kay leaned towards Reyna's communicator, with a silly smile on her face.   
  
Reyna sat back, with her hands over her eyes in horror. "Avon," she muttered. "Of all the people in the universe, we had to run into Avon."   
  
***   
  
All was quiet on Scalia's flight deck, with most of the crew looking at Avon. He was looking at Paige, and Vila. After a moment, he shrugged, and answered, "Dayna? How have you been? Is that Soolin with you?"   
  
Her answer was quick and happy. "Yes. Did you see what we just did?"   
  
"We did indeed," Blake interjected. "Congratulations. How did you do it?"   
  
As she described it in detail, Avon picked up Orac and headed off the flight deck. Paige and Vila, exchanging puzzled looks, followed him to the teleport bay.   
  
Once there, he installed Orac on the custom bench and instructed. "Orac, you claim you're an expert at teleportation?"   
  
*Of course I am. You wouldn't have been able to build this set without me.*   
  
"I suppose not." He glanced up at the two in the doorway, and showed the ghost of a smile. "So, naturally, you're expert at using this setup."   
  
*Naturally. Are you by chance leading up to something?*   
  
Vila grinned at that, but Avon kept his face under strict control. "As always, you're ahead of me. Could you safely transport Dayna and Soolin out of their ship and onto ours?"   
  
In answer, they saw the teleport controls light and move. Seconds later, the teleport bay contained two very surprised and disconcerted mercenaries. They had been sitting down at the moment of transfer, and were consequently a little off-balance.   
  
Paige tried valiantly not to giggle at their inelegant arrival. Vila was less restrained, and earned himself a poisonous look from the blond.   
  
"Thank you, Avon," she spat out, climbing to her feet. She looked around. "Well, all together again. I'm so happy." Her tone implied that she was being less than truthful, and Vila snickered again.   
  
The black girl was less on her dignity, jumping up and smiling widely at Avon. "Well, I'm glad to see you again. You too, I guess," she added with a glance at Vila. "All we need to complete the picture is Tarrant."   
  
Avon's mouth quirked at that, and he edged closer to Paige. "As a matter of fact, we have one. Meet Paige Tarrant; Deeta's daughter, and Del's niece."   
  
Soolin gazed at her with a jaundiced eye. "So, this is a home for old revolutionaries and their dependents?"   
  
Paige smiled back. "No, it's a working revolution."   
  
"Paige is a talented engineer," Avon added quietly.   
  
"Better than you?" Dayna asked quizzically, glancing back and forth between them.   
  
"As much as it pains me to admit it."   
  
Dayna and Soolin exchanged impressed looks. "Well, then, we're pleased to meet you." Dayna stepped forward to shake hands, and Paige smiled warmly.   
  
"I'm glad to meet you, too. I look forward to hearing your adventures."   
  
"Oh, they're nothing extraordinary, I assure you," Soolin replied dryly. "Avon, who's running this excuse for a revolution?"   
  
"Straight back to business, I see," Vila bubbled, falling back into his role of court jester. Paige frowned at him, and he quieted abruptly.   
  
Avon led the way to the flight deck with Soolin. Vila followed docilely, and Dayna joined Paige at the rear, asking, "How did you do that? Get Vila to shut up, I mean. We never could stop him once he got started."   
  
Paige smiled uncertainly. She wanted to defend Vila, but she sensed that they had only seen his clown act; he had worked hard to earn their scorn. "Well, we're friends. I think you'll find that he's changed."   
  
Dayna gave her a newly dubious look, but there wasn't time to say more; they'd reached the flight deck.   
  
***   
  
It took some time to sort out everyone's stories. Dayna and Soolin had been partners ever since they'd escaped Gauda Prime, and Blake was impressed by their network of contacts.   
  
"Just think what we could do with those kind of connections!" he enthused.   
  
Loren doused his pretensions. "It's unimportant. The Empress is dead - thoroughly dead. It's over."   
  
Loren was generally being the wet blanket at the victory party. Nearly everyone present had some reason to be glad that Servalan was gone, but the pilot had been deprived of the focus of her life, and her confusion was showing. Avon watched, and understood.   
  
"Come on, Loren," Silira coaxed, "it won't be that bad. There's still your Republican Alliance, or whatever they call it. They'll probably need a security officer. And we can all retire as heroes of the revolution."   
  
"We're not heroes," Vila objected, "we just watched."   
  
Silira glared at him, as Dayna, to her own surprise, defended him. "That might be how it looked, but you people had more to do with it than you think. You got her angry, stirred her up. Do you know that she hadn't left Earth in five years? Once you got her off the planet, her advisors had a clear path to take over."   
  
"The piloting we saw was superlative," Soolin added. "I think she was ready to do anything to destroy you - it looked like she lost her head. Probably a mutoid crew. She didn't pay any attention to us at all, until she tried to call for reinforcements."   
  
Loren showed no signs of cheering up, and Avon bestirred himself to help. "Well, Servalan's gone," he observed to no one in particular, "but the Federation remains. Who knows if the new leaders will be better or worse?"   
  
That sparked another round of debate, and Paige wondered why he'd said it, until she saw how Loren was reacting. The pilot was speaking to Blake, in low tones. Blake's face grew progressively grimmer, until he looked far more serious than Paige had ever seen him. Then he nodded and stood up, waving for silence.   
  
When he got it, he began his speech. "Brave people, you have done well today. We have won a great victory." Silira winced at his tone. "But we have much work before us still." Paige flashed Avon a See-what-you've-done-now look. "This new government is an unknown quantity. We must be on our guard--"   
  
Just then, there was a brilliant flare of light from the viewport, and a few seconds later, Scalia shivered slightly, and started to drift.   
  
"What the hell was that?" Loren demanded as she scrambled for the flight controls.   
  
+The Federation Pursuit ship blew itself up, of course.+ Vision had regained it's customary nonchalance. +The process started two minutes ago. Don't worry, I put up the force wall.+   
  
Loren stared at the computer interface for a moment. "Why didn't you tell us?"   
  
+I didn't want to interrupt.+   
  
***   
  
In the Empress' private office, Darren was waiting impatiently for news which he hoped would never come. If Servalan were on schedule, she'd have arrived by now, but if she'd survived the ambush, she could easily be delayed. She might even delay on purpose, hoping to catch him and Sassic in an act of treason. The more he thought about that the more likely it seemed, but he also knew how waiting could bring on that kind of paranoia. For now, the best plan was to proceed as normal, and by now, it would be reasonable to contact Fiorinal, to see if she'd left on time. He'd have to be careful what he said; he didn't want rumors spreading too quickly.   
  
***   
  
"Well, we certainly weren't on our guard there!" Silira's amused comment broke the tension, and everyone relaxed.   
  
"You know," Varel offered diffidently, "we might have a hard time claiming to be heroes of the revolution. We don't have any evidence. She disappeared once before, you know."   
  
"She identified herself to us, just before she blew up," Dayna protested.   
  
Soolin caught on a bit sooner. "And that recording just exploded. I see."   
  
"Still, there's nothing to stop the old rumor mill," Varel continued, unperturbed. "You say that the Supreme Commander set you up for this? Brag about it in a few bars. Act mysterious about it when people discuss the strange doings on Earth. Wonder aloud why you haven't seen Servalan lately. All of you. Someone back on Earth probably has an elaborate plan to complete the transfer of power -- but that hasn't been done yet. He's created a power vacuum, and he hopes to step into it. It hasn't happened yet."   
  
Blake was watching the former Federation soldier with new interest and approval. "You know, Varel, you have a good mind for strategy. Let's discuss this further." He drew the younger man off to a corner, with Loren trailing behind jealously.   
  
"Oh, good, the grownups have gone," Silira observed spitefully. Avon's mouth twitched at her assessment, but she didn't notice. "So," she continued, "show of hands, who thinks the revolution is over?" She stuck her own hand up as an example, and Vila followed gladly. After a second's thought, Paige and Dayna joined in. Avon didn't move, but Silira judged his smile was a clear enough answer.   
  
She brought her hand down and continued. "The question is, then, how should we spend our retirement? I have some, shall we say, tangible assets hidden away. Paige and Vila, I know can support themselves; I imagine Avon can too." Avon nodded sardonic thanks at her assessment of his skills.   
  
"What I'm saying is, I've got money, but no plans. I'm open to suggestions." Belatedly, Silira realized that her businesslike tone was making Vila nervous. She reached over to grab his hand. "Vila and I are definitely staying together. Anyone who wants to join us is welcome, if we can get our plans together."   
  
"It's too bad that Aristo is off limits," Paige observed.   
  
"Why should it be?" Avon challenged. "Servalan won't be going back."   
  
"No, it's too isolated," she insisted. "Avon, we ought to be inventing things and making pots of money. No customers on Aristo."   
  
Silira pounced on the notion. "That's perfect. I'll loan you start-up capital, and Vila can sell the things. We'll be set for life."   
  
"You've misspelled that, love," Vila murmured, amused. He was much more relaxed now that he knew she was going to stick with him. He hadn't thought much about a future with her, but it was looking better all the time. "I don't sell things, I steal them."   
  
"Just think of it as a fancy variation," she advised him. "You'll be picking their wallets instead of their pockets."   
  
Paige, meanwhile, was trying to read Avon's expression. She desperately wanted to settle down with him and have a somewhat normal life, but she had no idea what his feelings were. Their relationship was fairly sketchy. She didn't know if she should reassure him that she wanted him, or make sure he knew he was free. She was fairly sure that he wanted her to make the commitment that he was so shy of. And they couldn't discuss it here. He had visibly withdrawn since Dayna and Soolin had come on board; it was certain that he wouldn't open up in their presence.   
  
"So anyway," Silira asked eagerly, "what do you think? Partners?"   
  
Avon stirred, then replied, "I'll have to think about it." He stood, then, and started off towards the crew quarters and his own private room. Paige watched him all the way off the flight deck, but he ignored her. She rose, too, and headed off the other way.   
  
Paige had always thought of the engine room as her refuge. She had a private room now, since her roommate had moved in with Vila, but she didn't consider going there. The thrum of engines working usually soothed her soul.   
  
***   
  
Some time later, Blake came out of his huddle with Varel and Loren to announce new goals.   
  
"Fellow patriots, we have a new direction. We must work to ensure that the Federation has truly reformed - not just changed hands. This will not be an easy fight, but I trust that I have all your support."   
  
"Bad news for you, Blake," Silira spoke up. She knew she was being unusually strident, but she didn't care. "Some of us are going to retire. I didn't sign up for an impossible crusade. I want to get out while I'm ahead - and while I've still got a head. And Vila--"   
  
"Vila is getting too old for this," he interrupted her. "Silira and I want a chance to have a life. I might even get to stop being terrified all the time."   
  
Soolin and Dayna exchanged raised eyebrows at this. They were starting to notice the change in him.   
  
"And I don't imagine you'll be holding on to Paige or Avon, either," Silira continued. "Separately or together, they're leaving."   
  
"Together, I think," Avon interjected on his way through. "We'll be leaving together." He was off the flight deck again, on his way to the engine room, before anyone could comment.   
  
***   
  
"Paige."   
  
She whirled around to see Avon standing just inside the engine room door. She started forward, then stopped, uncertain.   
  
"Do you want to know what I've decided?" The light was behind him, so that she couldn't quite read his face. Not that she ever could.   
  
"I don't want to pressure you, Avon," she replied honestly, afraid to hope.   
  
He was distracted by that. "How long would you have waited for me to decide?"   
  
"As long as it took," she said simply.   
  
"Then you don't have to wait." He moved forward as he said it, and she found herself in the warmest embrace she'd ever known. After a long moment, he pulled back a fraction, enough so that he could see her face. "Do you want us to join Silira and Vila?"   
  
At first she could only nod, then she found her voice. "Yes, oh yes." She buried her face in his chest once more.   
  
"Good."   
  
THE END  
  



End file.
